Friday, March 18, 2005

The most bizarre stuff happens to us...

12:30 a.m., St. Patrick's Day night, March 18 early a.m.
The 'Nards are ready for Freddy. (Ask my parents if you don't understand that last half of the sentence).
The doorbell rings. A shiver of terror runs through the house. Or maybe that was frightened kittens. Whatever.

Mark (wearing pajama pants): What th-? Hand me a shirt!

Me (wearing a giant T-shirt and P.E. shorts) (SEXY!): I'll stay back here by the phone. The last time my doorbell rang late at night, the house behind my parents' was on fire!

Mark (dodging speeding balls of frantic fur): Ok. (Answers door)

Woman, possibbly drunk from St. Patrick's Day festivities: Oh. I'm so sorry. My friend Matt told me you lived here.

Mark, befuddled: Excuse me? I don't understand. What do you want?

Woman: I said, my friend Matt told me he lived here, on the corner of these two streets. I'm so sorry to bother you. I just guessed that this was it.

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