I’m ultra paranoid. As long as I have been an adult, I’ve been like this. I don’t remember checking locks several times during commercials as a kid. I do that now. We have three doors in our house and I check them constantly. I don’t have OCD; at least, I don’t think I do. I figure if I had OCD, it would be more like lock, unlock, lock, unlock, lock, unlock, etc. It’s usually just one tug on the door to make sure it’s locked.
The next two days are the types of instances when it gets worse. My wife is out of town. My 120 lb protector is gone! Now it’s just two pugs and me. While one of my pugs is overweight, I don’t think he could do too much damage against home invaders. Maybe he could overpower them with his super cute powers. Maybe when they look into his droopy eyes and smashed up face they’d be so entranced that I’d be able to get them with my baseball bat.
My baseball bat is my other protector. One of the problems with that is I never played baseball as a kid. Maybe I could hypnotize the invaders with my limp-wristed, effeminate swing, and while they roll on the floor laughing I could run to safety.
I imagine safety would be my neighbor’s house. They drive a truck and seem a little country, so I assume they have a Kereshian-type arsenal. I could cower behind my neighbor’s burly chest while she mows them down.
When I was in college, I used to keep a hammer next to my bed to thwart off evil college invaders. Even while it was there, it struck me as stupid because I was supplying the murder weapon.
“How’d he die?” the cop would say.
The other cop would say, “By his own stupidity.”
I’ve thought about getting a gun. My dad insists that is a horrible idea. I suppose he’s right. I don’t think my wife would be too happy about her nice home décor adorned with bullet holes. Lots of bullet holes. Ever night I hear something: ghosts, male rapists (the kind that rape men), home invaders. LOTS of bullet holes.
I bet bullet holes all over our house would work though. Who would break into a house with bullet holes all over it? Either it’s a crack house – in which case there is nothing to steal – or a mad, paranoid weirdo lives there.