Yesterday morning, as I sat on the floor of our TV room playing with my little Beansie Weensie, I was startled by the sound of the doorbell. As a rule, I am skeptical of people coming to my door unannounced. It is almost always someone selling something. But at 8am on a Tuesday, I doubted this was the case. I eagerly ran upstairs thinking "that husband of mine, says he doesn't have anything planned for our anniversary and he sends me FLOWERS!" I peeked out the front window. No flowers. Instead, there stood a man in a police uniform. My first thought was "STRIP-O-GRAM!!" But closer inspection of the spindly mustachioed* gentleman standing on my front porch showed that if he were, in fact, there with exposure on his mind, the treat would NOT be mine. Therefore, my rational mind concluded that he must be a legitimate cop.
My mind raced. What had I done? I have been quite good lately, but had something from my nefarious past finally caught up with me? Did it have something to do with the case of the sticky fingered cleaning lady**? Had something bad gone down in our neighborhood? I've been trying to talk Neil into moving, a crime spree in the neighborhood would be just the thing to further my cause. I contemplated not answering the door, but my sense of civic duty won out and I swung the door open.
"Hello. Did you call 911, ma'am?" He queried.
Open mouth, confused look, "Wha? 911?" I stammered before the realization hit me. "Ohhh, no..." as the memory of my darling daughter playing with the phone flashed through my head.
"Dispatch thought it was a child, but we figured better safe than sorry. Is everything okay?"
Unable to string together a sentence longer than two words in my embarrassment, I sputter "Yes, fine. Sorry. My baby. Sorry. Sorry." And I close the door on the nice officer.
Lesson #943: Letting the baby play with a phone is not a good idea.
*Why do all cops wear the 'staches?
**A long story that after two more trial dates I will hopefully be able to finish when it finally gets resolved in January.