Slipping into bed, my deep velvet eyes heavy lidded with sleep, I let the covers whisper over my body. I can't help the smile that plays at the corner of my lips because getting into bed at night is one of my favorite things in the world. It feels decadent, sinful, maybe even a little naughty which is why I adore sleeping naked. The soft, silky sheet against my bare skin is a teasing caress. The pillow resting on my cheek a flirty, little night cap.
Of course, this was before The-I-Thought-My-House-Was-Being-Ransacked-
It was about 4:30 am when I was startled out of a very delicious dream about David Tennant (whose glasses and crazy hair wearing, smart, sexy and slightly manic doctor is the essence of bangability in my book) by a crash outside of my bedroom. Bleary-eyed, and just a bit crazy at the edges, I dashed out of bed. My pulse was hammering in my ears as I flung the door open with a shriek. Still hazy, I grabbed the only weapon I had at my disposal, a rather rangy 10 year old wooden mop, and leapt into the living room.
It was quite unfortunate that my attacker happened to be my elderly neighbor, retrieving his hissing, spitting behemoth of a cat from my front porch who in its 4am frenzy had apparently knocked over a flower pot, a stool, and a pair of mischievous wind chimes. There was a brief shocking moment where we both froze and stood there staring at each other.
Me with my ragged, decrepit weapon and him with his seething, evil feline.
I think, but can't be quite sure, that there was a whispered, "Oh. My. Word." right before I turned tail and ran to the safety of my bedroom.
Had he been a real adversary, I totally would have housed him. Because honestly, I'm sure that there is nothing more intimidating to a kidnapper than a naked girl jumping around, screaming and stabbing the air violently with a mop.