I have two outrageous notions from last week.
First and foremost, I got a rash. Not just any rash; a vile and itchy thing that surrounded my neck in a ring of doom. So maybe I fell asleep in a dainty little necklace that turned out to have been forged somewhere deep in Satan's basement. How is anyone supposed to know fake metals from real metals, and moreover, why spend money on real jewelry when the fake stuff looks the same at a fraction of the cost? The answer to that is called contact dermatitis. I woke up with the sensation you have deep in your skin when a big, mutant pimple is brewing below the surface. Any nearby muscle contortion caused a throbbing pain. I felt the necklace of bubbling zits and thought, "How odd. Multiple neck pimples?"
In the bathroom I saw the truth; the red, sandpapery truth. The worst part of the neck rash came when I Googled what to do about a neck rash. "When you fall asleep in cheap, fake jewelry, you can expect hives, redness, swelling..." "Cheap jewelry..." "Fake jewelry..." "Cheap ass, fake jewelry."
I got it. Thank you.
The more important outrage happened while I was home alone on Wednesday morning. Pippa barks when anyone with a pup walks or jogs past the house, but Grace only barks if someone comes onto our porch. I was working away at my desk when I heard Grace's bellowing salutations in the living room. Someone was here. I made my way to the front door, put my hand on the lock and prepared to turn it as I looked out onto the porch.
There was a hooded figure sitting on the top step. They had bags of assorted goods and were talking to themself. I couldn't see their face - they were sitting facing out - so I did not unlock the door.
This isn't a particularly interesting story, but the string of choices I made from here turned into a fiery debate, first with Brett and me, and later with all of my girlfriends against Brett.
The part of me that grew up female wanted no part in interacting with the hooded nutcase. He could be violent, he could be armed. Maybe he's out there building a small bomb. I don't have enough information. The part of me that grew up being compassionate wondered if they needed help - but that side was overruled by the female survival side. I called Dad, hoping he was close and could swing by but he didn't answer. I called Brett who was 20 minutes away at the office but he didn't answer, so I called Ellen. Ellen told me to call the police.
Calling the Popo seemed a touch dramatic for a person who had shown no interest in the house itself or the contents inside. They were much more involved their conversation with the shrubbery. I called our next-door neighbor David. "I'm on it!" he barked into the phone and then marched out his front door. He was here in 4 seconds. The short of it is that it was a homeless woman who stopped to rest. "I'm tired of walking!" she shouted at David.
"I understand Ma'am, but you can't just come onto people's property. You're scaring the people that live here." She really fussed at David and yelled at him the whole time she made her way on down the street. I'll tell you that David really strutted back over to his house. "I took care of it," he said into the phone, quite pleased with himself. As was I.
Had I known it was a lady, I'd have cracked the door to ask her if she needed help. I may have even given her some water, but I didn't know. My assumption of the worst case scenario (violent man building bomb on porch) was very confusing to Brett who does not understand what it's like to live as a female. We had a long chat about it where I conceded that I live in fear of improbable scenarios, ("The chances of that are so slim!" - Brett) but when I told the story to my girlfriends, they each said one of two things; 1) I reacted properly or 2) I under-reacted and should have called the police.
But all of them, jumped down Brett's throat. Nate sat by quietly while Erik occasionally posed a question to better understand the girls' point of view.
There were 8 of us at that dinner table and the debate was as fascinating as it was amusing. (Do you worry about this kind of thing everywhere? Like at Costco?" - Nate) While I loved having my side vindicated, I could tell Brett was becoming angry. He's not telling us our feelings are wrong, by the way, he's suggesting we should simply choose not to live this way ... which means he don't get it. ("The probability!" - Brett) I will amend this post when Brett and I have come to a mutual conclusion on the topic. It's still on the stove.
("This is why I don't date men." - Ellie)
After dinner we all went out for dessert and board games. Everyone still loves Brett.
Erik asked the girls a good question. "Do you do things to prepare yourself for bad situations or do you just avoid them?" Unanimously, we avoid them. "So you just won't go do something instead of bringing pepper spray or a pocket knife?" Unanimously yes, but we do all have pepper spray and whatnot. Also we avoid empty streets, park strategically, cover up with sweaters when walking alone, and we assume any man is a possible threat. This is second nature to us, and we live in a relatively safe place.
"Any man?" The guys were surprised. "You assume any man is a threat?"
"Not if his face is as sweet as Nate's," Ellie said, winking in his direction. (Pick a side, Ellie." - Caroline)
I heard it likened to ticks once. Not all ticks have lyme disease but you still layer up and spray yourself with repellant before you even step into the woods, because it only takes one tick. Chances are you won't be bitten by a tick with lyme disease, but everyone takes those precautions because it's not worth it not to.
