This is a true story, one that I have told many times before, although not on the internet. I promise you that there are no intentional untruths in the story and that any divergences from reality come from the faultiness of memory.
I, like many, have gone to university. Specifically, I went to the University of Lethbridge in windy Lethbridge, Alberta, where the winters will freeze your ass off and the summers are hot as balls. When this incident took place, it was the latter. Definitely the latter. I lived in a townhouse with my roommates Starsha and Rebecca and reader, we suffered.
Summer heat in Alberta may be a dry heat, but it is still a bad heat. It was the type of heat where you slept in the minimum amount of clothing to maintain decency and blankets were an insult. Windows? Open, and damn the mosquitoes. Patio doors? Closed. Not the glass part. Just the screen.
Rebecca and I had our rooms on the top floor. Starsha, like a poor orphan child (also because she was the last to move in and because she wanted more room than the third bedroom provided) slept in the basement, where it was still way too fucking hot.
Starsha had and has a fat orange cat named Jack. Jack is an enormous pussy. That stupidly hot night, the pussy Jack dashed down the stairs.
Now, Starsha knows her cat well, having had him since he was a charming, stray, pathetic kitten plucked off the street. She knows he enjoys his sleep and is cowardly and that if he dashes down the basement in the dead of the night, one of these personality traits is at odds with the other.
Clad in her underwear (an article of which, I think, was a Sailor Moon tank top), she stood up. She took hold of an enormously ugly tall, orange glass vase and crept impressively silently up the basement stairs and turned to the living room.
The son of a bitch was heading to our laptops.
With the vase over her shoulder like a baseball player ready for a pitch, Starsha yelled out, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN OUR HOUSE.”
Whereupon she proceeded to chase the perp a full two blocks, until the combined advantages of fear and shoes asserted themselves and he escaped into the night.
Rebecca and I awoke with Starsha’s scream of, “AND STAY OUT!” and the slam of the patio door.
The three of us gathered in the living room, whereupon the sleepy among us were brought to up to speed and the cops were called.
We sat in the living room, shell-shocked. A thought broke through in my mind.
“Maybe we should put on pants,” I said.
The next day, Rebecca and I went to Toys R Us and bought Starsha a pink metal baseball bat that said ‘Girl Power’ on the side. I believe she still has that bat.
Postscript: The cop was cute. We never saw him again. The would-be burglar was never caught in connection with this crime. While the heat still made us stupid, it no longer made us so stupid that we didn’t lock the damned doors.
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