Paranoia and Predictability

I recently came home from the store that’s one block from our house, and I saw Paul’s car parked in our spot. So when I opened the front door, I shouted the usual “Hello!” There was no response, so I assumed that he was on the floor in the bedroom, cyanotic, eyes wide open. Dead.

I was so certain he’d dropped that I couldn’t move. I stood in the foyer with my grocery bag dangling from my hand, trying not to panic. I knew I needed to check the bedroom, and I’d have to call 9-1-1. But I didn’t want to see him lying there.

A few seconds went by, and I heard a key turn in the front door. Paul ambled in and smiled.

I blurted in a voice that was straining to sound casual, “Oh! There you are! Hah-hah!”

Paul asked, “Thought I was dead?”

“Yep.”

He chirped, “Of course you did.” Then he took both of our grocery bags and shuffled to the kitchen.

I’m torn between gratitude for Paul’s acceptance of my paranoia and dissatisfaction for having become predictable, but I believe paranoia rules.

When I asked Google what I should request from Paul for Christmas*, it suggested the Car Hammer. I’m not sure if “passive security system” is a commentary about the driver’s character, but I still like this product. The description in Amazon is:

“Car Hammer: Vital Safety Seatbelt Cutter Survival Kit: Window Punch Breaker Tool for Family Rescue & Emergency Escape, Great Christmas Gift”

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Nothing evokes Christmas cheer like saying, “Next time you drive off a pier, you’ll be ready. Love, Santa.”

 

 

* Yes. I Googled “great gifts for women” because I couldn’t think of a damned thing.

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