My Take on Kung-Fu Fighting

A piercing siren jolted me from my slumber. A warm tingling of fear seized over my body. What the hell is that? Air raid siren? Flood siren? No, it’s the burglar alarm. My part-human, part-boxer dog Inga stood up and ran to my bed, tilting her head and staring me down until I would get up and make it go away.

Ok, don’t panic. You need a plan. I locked the bedroom door and pressed my ear against it. I couldn’t hear anything, probably because I was in the room with the alarm receiver. I should just stay here. That’s not a good plan, because what if the police never come and break the door down, I am sitting hear causing permanent damage to my dogs’ ears. They don’t even like the smoke detector. Plus I’m sure if some rapist wants to get me he could probably kick in the cheap Home Depot door. I had to go investigate.

As I unlocked the door, Inga looked ready to pounce. No, I can’t let her out. She’s not exactly a guard dog and she is my baby and I don’t want her getting shot. Plus if I let her out, my pit mix Trini would want to go too. Since Trini is 13 and only has three legs, I would have to carry her downstairs. With my luck I’d trip over Inga and the three of us would tumble down the stairs like a giant snowball of non-threatening dogs and their stupid owner, probably landing at the feet of the intruder who could throw a net over us and take us hostage. A net? What is this, Scooby-Doo?

New plan. I keep a hockey stick behind my bedroom door for occasions like this. My ex used to keep a baseball bat, even though he never played baseball in his life. I just happened to have a hockey stick because we used to build a backyard rink every winter. I wasn’t very good, but I looked cute in a hockey jersey and I liked to pretend. I wasn’t quite sure what good a hockey stick would do as a weapon though. I suppose I could gouge the burglar’s eye out like “Dr. Hook” McCracken in the movie Slap Shot. Yes, I’m basing my self-defense on a fictitious character in Paul Newman’s worst movie.

Even though it was a crappy plan, I walked out of the blaring bedroom. Oh, you forgot something! I went back in…for my cell phone. This was an even worse plan. What was I going to do with a cell phone? Throw it at the intruder like I’m Bruce Lee with a Chinese throwing star and impale him in the forehead? I throw like a girl. A three year-old girl. It would probably land five feet in front of the guy, who would then use it to order a pizza after he tied me up. Still, it was too late now. The phone was all I had until I could get past the doors to the kitchen. The only good thing about this plan was that it was an HTC phone, so I knew it was a heavy, indestructible little phone. I knew this because I had developed a bad habit of throwing it against the wall when I’d lose my cool. They are like the Ginsu knives of cell phones; I bet you could take it apart and use the casing to slice through a shoe and tin can, then put it back together and it would still work perfectly.

Still afraid to go check the doors, I hung out by the intact front door wondering if the police were on their way and maybe I should wait for them. At this point fear took over. What if the police show up, and one of them is hot and single? What if it was one I knew from happy hour? Why didn’t I put on my bathrobe. This nightshirt has a hole in it. I don’t have makeup on. What the hell? Snap out of it!

I tiptoed into the dining room and contemplated checking the sliding glass door. But what if I pull back the heavy velvet curtain and there’s a guy out there in a hockey mask? Another reason you should have taken the hockey stick with you. Maybe I could distract him from killing me with a pickup game in the street. Nope, don’t like this plan. I don’t feel a draft, probably not coming from there. Let’s check the garage door. And then I saw the wireless sensor on the floor. Stupid thing fell off. Doors still locked. Phew.

I called off the alarm company and went back to bed, curling up with my vicious guard dogs. I waited what felt like hours for my heart to stop pounding. You stupid ass. A cell phone?

3 thoughts on “My Take on Kung-Fu Fighting

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