wayward peanut butter

Since my mother has started going to the gym after work (unlike her lazy, slothful daughter), I'm usually the first one home most nights when I don't have to go out after work. So when I drove up tonight and saw the garage door wide open, I was surprised and wondered who beat me home.

And then I saw there were no cars in the garage or the driveway.

Now, any sane person would assume that the last person to leave the house (my notoriously forgetful father) had simply forgotten to close the door on his way to work this morning. I am not any sane person. I am, instead, a neurotic girl who spent too many hours of her formative years watching shows like Rescue 911 and America's Most Wanted (these were seriously my favorite shows between the ages of, like, seven and eleven. Until I discovered Quantum Leap, to put it in other terms). Naturally, the only conclusion I could draw was that crazy murderers were hiding in my house, waiting to pounce on me.

And so I called my father on his private line at work.

Dad: (Annoyed, his general state at work) Yello!

Me: Dad? It's Jess. (I still signify it's me instead of Jimmy even though we stopped sounding alike oh, ten or twelve years ago.)

Dad: What, Jess.

Me: Did you shut the garage door when you left?

Dad: What?

Me: Did you shut the garage door when you left? Because it's open now and I don't know if I should go in, and I wouldn't worry except for the whole garage robbers incident and --

Cell Phone: BEEP. (Digital Display: Signal Faded, Call Lost)

Exactly how all horror movies start! The truth is, a quirk of my cell phone plan is how I get no reception at my house. It's very annoying.

Naturally I called back several times, only to get cut off every time, until I got SO FRUSTRATED that I decided to go into the house to use the land line. Yes! My cell phone related frustration was greater than my fear! It's good to know something trumps that, but still, once I got into the house and onto the phone, part of me was all, "Okay, so how was this a good plan?"

I called my father again.

Dad: Yes Jess.

Me: I'm in the house.

Dad: You're in the house?

Me: Yes, I'm in the house. Should I not have come in? I probably shouldn't have come in. Why did I come in?

Dad: Well, you're in there now.

Me: Right.

Dad: [Silence.]

Me: So, uh, what should I do?

So we did a walk through of the house, found no insane robbers, and then my father, who had to go to a meeting after work and wouldn't be home for another couple of hours, told me I should either call the police (!!) or go visit my aunt who lives five minutes away if I was nervous. These were good plans, and I totally would have taken one of them, except -- well, except I really had to pee. See, when I get nervous? I have to pee. It's an awful thing. And the thing was -- if you're going to use the bathroom in a creepy place, you've kind of committed to that creepy place. It seems strange to bust out of someplace like a bat out of hell and stop in the loo on the way.

Naturally, it is far more normal to hang up with your father, stand by the bathroom, and say, in the most booming of voices your shaky nerves can muster, "Okay! So if there are any burglars in here or anything, I'm going to go --well, I'm going to go into this room here, and, well, I will stay there at LEAST a few minutes, and if you want to get out, you can go! And get away! I won't look! I won't have seen you! And, you know, I have a phone -- no, TWO phones in here -- so don't think of trying something. Okay? Okay. And my father is going to be home VERY SOON! Okay."

And then I went into the bathroom, took care of business, and promptly realized that I didn't want to leave. Because what if there was a scary burglar out there? I had no weapons except my cordless phone and, well, a bottle of Proactive Toner! Which I tried out a couple of times and provided enough squirty action to operate as makeshift Mace.

I called for backup in the form of my bud Anna, over the phone who, after knowing me for so long, didn't miss a beat and when I called and said, "So I'm in the bathroom now, and I'm afraid there's someone out there, and logically I *know* there's not, but I'm worried, and I've got some Toner here in my hand but if you could just stay on the phone with me while I go out there, that would be great," she said, "No problem."

Needless to say, there were no scary burglars in the hall. Instead, there was just Molly, flopped over on her back with her paws in the air in Designated Cute Kitty Pose #13, designed to get some attention and/or milk.

I explained the whole situation to Anna on my way downstairs, including the one thing in the house that seemed odd -- the jar of peanut butter in the middle of the kitchen floor.

"Do you think there are burglars who just come in and misplace household items?" Anna considered.

"It would explain a lot," I said.

We both decided it was definitely just my Dad being forgetful, which makes sense since he's the guy who's gone through two teakettles just this year, I think, by forgetting to turn off the burner on his way out in the morning, so that I return home to them sitting blackened on the stove. We're just lucky there hasn't been a three-alarm blaze. He's always running late and in a rush in the mornings.

Anna had to go because she had to call her Dreamy German Boyfriend, and so I called the next person on my list of People I Like To Annoy When I'm Being Crazy: Annie. Annie gave me some great advice.

"I think you should turn on the TV," she said. "That would make me feel better. Because even though it would totally drown out the sound of any approaching bad guys were there any actual bad guys, putting you in greater danger, I'd rather have the distraction and not know until the last minute."

"Good thinking," I said, and went into the living room and put on my Firefly DVDs.

Annie had to go eat dinner, and just when I was going to hit the next peron on my People I Like To Annoy When I'm Being Crazy list, Joanna, the phone rang and it was Anna calling back to check on my status. We chatted for a bit and were just discussing the merits of popcorn when lo! My wayward father returned, all apologetic for the whole situation, saying it was just his forgetfulness again.

"We should develop a system," I said.

Anna suggested a list by the door and I was about to pass that along when my father said, "I already have a system for the water."

"The water?"

"The teakettle. To remember to shut it off. I use the peanut butter."

"The peanut butter?" I was already laughing at this point.

"Yeah, I put it in the middle of the floor, and then when I'm on my way out, I see it, and remember to check the stove."

And so the Mystery of the Wayward Peanut Butter was solved, there were no scary burglars, and we all lived happily ever after.