I was sitting on the couch last night watching Rizzoli & Isles when I heard something rather odd.
My front door knob was jiggling.
Don’t ever move to the North Shore/Side of Pittsburgh. It’s been a nightmare the two years I’ve been here.
So, back to my jiggling door knob. The way the downstairs of the house is set up the kitchen and foyer face the road. There is a breakfast bar then the living room, 1 bathroom and the office/man cave. (Not really a man cave anymore… a boys cave. The kids invaded it and well, all the boys hang out in there. Mom’s not allowed.) Our couch is against the breakfast bar and well, the kitchen is right there.
Now, when I heard the door knob jiggle I kneeled on the couch and peered over the breakfast bar at the windows waiting to see someone.
I didn’t, but I heard the door knob again.
So, I did what any other semi-sane woman would do. I crept to the counter where I keep my cooking utensils. I walked past the knives mind you, and grabbed a wooden spatula. Yes, I opted to grab a wooden spatula instead of a butcher’s knife.
That was my spatula.
In my brave state, that seemed to come out of nowhere, because for those who know me know that I’m a complete chicken shit, very slowly and somewhat quietly moved to the front door and unlocked it. I then burst out yelling like a banshee and swinging my deadly spatula in front of me.
I did manage to swat down a few bugs, but otherwise I scared the piss out of the old neighbor lady and her grandkids. They stopped what they were doing, stared at me and slowly went back into my house.
I meanwhile was still yelling, “I KNOW YOU’RE OUT HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT!” I don’t know who I was yelling at, but if it was their goal to make me look nuts, they succeeded.
I think I solidified the fact that I’m a raving lunatic to my neighbors.