Have you ever seen the movie Kiss The Girls? You know, the one in which this guy called Casanova keeps Ashley Judd in an underground cave as part of a harem, and then she escapes and bands together with Morgan Freeman to help unmask him?
I love that movie. Partially because I’d watch Morgan Freeman spend two hours reading the dictionary, but mostly because unlike the heroines of many classic thrillers, Ashley Judd is just unbelievably capable. When she wakes up and hears someone in the house, she goes immediately into offensive mode, and really does quite an excellent job of it.
And I’ve always wondered: if I suddenly discovered a strange man in my apartment, how would I react?
Last night, I got my answer.
And the answer is: poorly.
Whenever I’ve imagined myself dealing with something like an intruder (and I do imagine such things), it goes something like this: I notice a man (or hear a noise). My brain clicks immediately into high speed, generating numerous awe-inspiring escape scenarios. I calmly and constructively evaluate my surroundings and determine what, if anything, can be used for a weapon. And I either brilliantly and stealthily escape without drawing notice, a dog tucked under each arm, or take a golf club to the dude and emerge victorious.
Well, it turns out that what I actually do is scream like someone is charging at me full-tilt brandishing an ax.
Last night around 1AM I was sitting on my computer typing away, and Kendrick was just getting back from walking the dogs. He was crouched in the kitchen, sort of around the corner from the living room, taking off their leashes, when out of the corner of my eye I noticed that there was most definitely someone else in our apartment. I turned, saw a man in a blue shirt walking slowly through our living room…and began screaming. 5-alarm, Jamie-Lee-in-Halloween-style screaming.
Or, according to my husband, screaming like I’d seen a cockroach. Which is why his response was not to jump into action wielding a samurai sword, but rather to roll his eyes and sigh. By the time he realized that I was actually, you know, legitimately frightened, the poor guy in our living room – who, as it turns out, was our extremely drunk neighbor who had accidentally wandered into our place thinking it was his own – had been scared witless by the noise coming from the kitchen (me) and wandered on back out.
I would like to make special mention of our darling puppies here, because last night they really showed their mettle as attack dogs. When a man silently crept into our apartment, you know what Lucy and Virgil, tiny heroes, did? It can be best described using the words “radio silence.” These dogs lose their freaking minds over a squeak in the bathroom pipe and treat the poor FedEx guy like he’s Cruella De Vil, arrived to divest them of their fluff…but when it comes to an actual, for-real Man In The House? It’s all good; let’s just go ahead and give him a nice tail-wag. Maybe a lick. But a bark? A growl? Any indication whatsoever to our loving owners who feed us, house us, bathe us, and give us treats that there is a potential crisis in the making? Nahhh.
So that was exciting!
And at least I’ve solved the question of how I respond to an intruder in my place.
Poorly.
Image via.
