A Relaxing Sunday

If there were a TV show based on my life, and I were scripting a teaser for today, you would see:

!) a police officer ringing the bell, then banging on my door.

2) Gary on the floor screaming.

3) Me, running about outside in my pajamas.

Of course, reality only becomes that dramatic after editing, editing out of order, and taking out of context.

First, The police officer rang the bell and banged on the door at 10:30, while I was fast asleep. Gary rolled over and said, “shoes.”

I was padding toward the door so slowly no one was there, but there was a police car outside, across the street, the same place it had been parked when I called them about the handgun shell casing I had found.

(I found the shell casing a few weeks ago, then last week a door-to-door salesman came by selling home security systems. I vaguely remember that sprinkling shell casings on the streets they’ll be canvassing is a technique security system salesmen use.)

At any rate, I ran out to find the policeman ringing the neighbor’s bell and pounding on their door. Come to find out, the neighbors with the police car in front of their house were reporting a break-in that resulted in a gun theft.

I had nothing to contribute. I didn’t see or hear anything. The policeman already knew about my shell casing story.

A few hours later I heard Gary scream, and boom, hit the floor. I had my hand out to call 911 when he screamed his back had gone out. And the screaming continued for hours. The poor guy. He hasn’t been this bad for 20 years. He’ll probably feel better tomorrow and then once again not see a doctor or get muscle relaxants.