Once Upon A Time I Chased Robbers In My PJ's

Let me just begin with “There will be no pictures to accompany this post.” Do not ask.

So it was a Saturday, sometime back between Christmas and two weeks ago. Adopted Daughter was spending the night. She and Big Princess were camped out in the living room watching something that passes for interesting. Big Daddy and I had long been esconed in our room.

Suddenly, I am awakenedd at 2 am by Big Princess. In a loud whisper, “Mom, I think someone is in your car!”

“Wwhaat?” but before she can repeat what she said, I am on my feet moving towards the front of the house.

“Sugar started barking and I looked out the window and your dome light is on…”

I move straight to the front door, calling Big Daddy to “Get up, someone’s stealing my car!” I don’t bother to peak outside. I just open the door and march out. Sure enough, my driver’s side door is open. A quick search reveals I have been robbed of 50 cd’s between 2 cases, a carton of cigarettes, and $5 in change. By now my sleepy husband has pulled on some pants and stumbled outside.

Like a Goldilock’s and the three bears movie, he cries “Someone’s been in my truck!” And I reply, “Well, someone’s been in my car!” And Big Princess and Adopted Daughter reply in unison, “There they are.” They are pointing about 4 houses down at the cul de sac at 3 teen boys wearing hoodies. "We saw them run when we looked out the window." The idiots are standing there, smoking my cigarettes, holding the loot, watching us.

I march down the end of my driveway in the 40 degree night, bare-foot, wearing only a pink night-shirt, point my finger at them and yell, “Hey, you gonna bring my shit back?”

To which I hear a weak reply of “what?”

So I shout a little louder, “You had better fucking bring my shit back right now. I want my cigarettes and cd’s back assholes.”

I can’t make out their reply but it sounds like “whatever” and if you ask any kid that knows me, the “whatever” word is the same as Fuck You in my mind. I saw red. I turn back to the girls (don’t ask me what Big Daddy is doing at this point cause I don’t know) and shout “call 911 and bring me my shotgun.”

I see the boys look at each other in what I assume is disbelief (and I think they might have yelled a scared little yell) and run into the ditch that leads to a wooded area.

We gave the report to the police and my husband’s famous last words for the night were something about the teens coming back to “jack us up”.

I figure if they were scared enough to run away from me standing barefoot in my pajamas, they weren’t coming back (and I was right).