To Catch a Thief
When you’re an anxious sort, sometimes a fun thing to do is to lie awake in bed, late into the night, and picture horrible situations and how you would handle them. You know. So that in the unlikely event that they should happen, you’ll be prepared.
For example, what if an INTRUDER burst into my bedroom while I was sleeping (or lying awake picturing what I’d do if a volcano erupted in South Central Pennsylvania)? What are my options?
For some people, the immediate reaction would be to pull out the ol’ pearl handle revolver and start a-shootin’. But that’s not my style. I do, however, like to sleep with a machete under Bill’s pillow when he’s out of town (it’s almost like having him there—they both have dangerous curves). Just imagine breaking into someone’s bedroom and then hearing the crystalline shhhing! of a machete being unsheathed in the darkness. You look toward the sound and see, illuminated by a swath of moonlight, a woman sitting stock-still in bed, hair wild, eyes wide, her glinting weapon held upright before a truly horrible smile. I think I would skedaddle, wouldn’t you?
I slink down into the rumpled covers so it looks like the bed is empty. Then, while the thief is rummaging through the drawers for gems and gold bars (which aren’t there, naturally—they’re hidden above a specific ceiling tile at a specific Red Lobster, the same place my great-uncle the pirate sailor kept his valuables), I slide out from under the covers like an amoeba and slip beneath the bed. I pretend to be a pile of dirty clothes. The thief checks under the bed, but sees nothing out of the ordinary. My camouflage is too good.
Thieves are notoriously superstitious, and they refuse to burgle any place which might be haunted. With this in mind…the bed sheet is right there. It’s an obvious move.
I start sleeping in a ski mask every night. When the thief sneaks in, I pop up and whisper, “Finally! I thought you got lost!” I point him toward the dresser and say, “Here, grab the lady’s jewelry” as I stuff wads of cash from the nightstand into a duffel bag. We clean the place out and disappear into the night. Thus begins my life of crime.
The most realistic option, and the one that immediately came to mind when I posed the question to myself, is this: I lumber up into a crouching position and screech, “I WILL EAT YOUR HEART IN THE MARKETPLAAACE.” Not sure how that would go, but it is my natural instinct and I think I should follow it.
And that’s the trouble with anxiety. You can plan and rehearse these scenarios all night long, but when something does end up happening, you’re still just yourself. Neurotic and groggy and prone to theatrics.
