Last night my wife, Nancy, and I were alone in the house. We were just falling asleep when we were startled by a thunderous thump and a loud, drawn-out dragging sound coming from somewhere within our house.
We both sat up in bed and Nancy whispered, “What was that?”
Now how am I supposed to know what’s going on in the rest of the house? I’m not clairvoyant, I’m scared. I’m the only person I know who’s childhood hero was the Cowardly Lion from ‘The Wizard of Oz.’ The problem is, if I tell her the truth she’ll want me to investigate. Apparently, during our wedding vows I agreed to take out the trash and investigate psychotic murderers crawling around our house in the middle of the night.
I decide not to panic her. “It was just the wind,” I assure her, my voice quivering with fear.
“Oh, okay,” she says and believes me! “Thank goodness you’re here or I’d be frightened to death.” Then she rolls over, closes her eyes and immediately falls back to sleep. How in the world can she fall back to sleep? Does she really believe I’d be capable of defending her from the evil fiend that could make a noise like that?
She falls back to sleep and I have to lie there waiting for some monster to break down the bedroom door. Naturally I suddenly have to go to the bathroom. Bad, but not nearly bad enough for me to climb out from under the covers.
It’s not that I’m really afraid, I know those things only happen in the movies and the Grim Reaper is not wandering around my living room looking for his next victim. The only reason I don’t investigate the noise is because I know it really was just the wind. And I don’t have to go to the bathroom that badly, it can wait until morning. Everything always seems better in the daylight. Besides, Nancy always gets up before I do.