So now, four years have passed since that fateful day and I am now tucked into my own apartment that walks out to a courtyard with tall evergreen trees now beautifully covered with snow…watching the next to the last episode of “The Housewives of New York City”.
The Parents are sitting on a book shelf right next to my TV. They are surrounded by all my favorite books and favorite pictures of them as well as Karlie, George, Annie and Cantor…and, of course, best friend Emma.
I have a “Family on the Shelf” as opposed to an “Elf on the Shelf”
I keep The Parents for a couple of months and then they journey over to Karlie and George’s house where they sit in an equally revered place. It seemed like a better idea than…you know…separating them…like eggs.
But now it was late…scenes from next week’s episode were running. I clicked the remote.
I stood up, stretched and turned off the lamp beside my chair. I dropped the blinds but not before appreciating again how peaceful the falling snow looked.
I put the chain lock on my door even though I know in my heart of hearts that a chain is not going to stop a crazed man from entering my cozy little abode and stealing my super swell TV…or worse.
But still, at least I would hear him and be able to stealthily pull my always loaded Glock out from my bedside table and blow him to smithereens…HAH…gotcha…just kidding.
But at least I would hear him…
I flipped the hall light on and walked down the hall. The full lenth mirror at the end was there for a purpose. B+
I fluffed my hair like I always do when finding myself in front of any mirror and went into my bedroom and paused…
I clapped my hands twice and my bedside light went on. Yes. I have “The Clapper”.
Don’t judge me.