Hubby and I are lucky to share a lot of good memories together. Every now and then something will happen that triggers a special memory, however. Tonight we were eating at a restaurant on the water talking to E about our early history. This was before Hubby and I were married, when I was still living in the half of a double in German Village.
Now, the part of German Village I lived in wasn't the safest of neighborhoods. Also, my next door neighbor's house was separated from mine by a mere 5 foot breezeway. People would occasionally cut through between our two houses to get to the park, or to escape the police or to do....well...whatever.
One night after Hubby and I had gone to sleep and my roommates were all settled for the night, we all heard a sound downstairs. It sounded like someone was trying to break into the house. Hubby and I are both pacifists and will never own a gun. Roommate number one was dating (and is now married to) a raging lunatic who scares the crap out of me and probably stockpiles huge amounts of ammo. Roommate number two, although very sensible and peaceful, was climbing the ladder to her now very high-powered government job and has her fingers in the pies of some major things. My guess is she carries a concealed weapon at all times. Seriously, she's that big a wig in Washington. But at the time, we were just three women living alone and unarmed in this questionable area. By the luck of the draw, Hubby was the only man in the house that night.
My roommates crept into my room and asked Hubby to go downstairs to check out the noise. Off course Hubby didn't want to walk down the long flight of completely enclosed stairs empty-handed, so we all searched our rooms for some implement of pain. We discarded hangars, shoes, books-things to throw that would really only piss a robber off. But then we remembered the movie St. Elmo's fire and Roommate number one came up with a can of hairspray, the kind that actually sprayed, not pumped. Of course none of us smoked, so we didn't actually have a lighter, just the can. Roommate number two didn't have anything acceptable so we grabbed the only other thing from my room that looked like it might deliver, if not a painful blow, a rousing sting.
Hubby descended the stairs with a can of hairspray in one hand, a pink yardstick in the other, and three very scared young women behind him. It was almost a scene from Three's Company plus one. There never was anyone in the house. We assumed it was just someone crossing through the breezeway, but I can only imagine if we had a real robber entering the house. I can see Hubby now yelling at the man to "Stop and be coiffed!" or "Take one more step and I'll measure you!"
Oh...I forgot to mention....in all the rush to get downstairs before someone actually got in, Hubby threw on the first thing he could grab. He gallantly rushed to our rescue wearing only....my robe! Yes folks, this is your pastor!