I suppose I should save this for Halloween since it factors heavily into this favorite-of-mine Pat moment. But today just feels like a great day for a spooky story.
You might want to avoid reading this after dark, and for heaven’s sake, scatter the children.
Just don’t suggest hiding under the bed, you know what’s under the bed don’t you? In my house it’s horrifying. In Iowa we grow huge dust bunnies with razor sharp teeth and they eat stray socks.
My dad, Pat, is a pharmacist. And pharmacists work in drugstores. (Not to be confused with the folk who sell drugs in the alley behind the high school.)
Drugstores sometimes have great benefits. Once, when dad owned his own drugstore he brought home some sample furniture that was perfect for Barbie and company. Well, actually it was perfect for Skipper. Barbie and Ken didn’t quite fit at the beautiful wood veneer dining room table. And Skipper had those stupid knees that wouldn’t bend. But, being Pollyanna even way back then, I made them work.
But that’s not what this story is about.
When I was a teenager, I was always the first one up in the morning. Being a teen girl in the late 70’s – early 80’s required quite a bit of bathroom time. The blue eyeshadow alone took several minutes per eye.
When I entered the bathroom each morning let’s just say I was pretty much out of it. I believe, but no one has ever confirmed this since they all slept the morning away, I continued my REM cycle in the shower. I remember the alarm, in a vague and hazy dreamlike sense. I remember sliding down the hallway or at least the bruises from smacking into the woodwork. The sound of water is there, in the recesses of my mind. My first conscience thoughts struggled to the surface and broke free as I stood under the cooling water.
One post-Halloween morning, after finally shaking off the sleep, I threw open the shower curtain and nearly died of fright.
A monster stared me in the eye. I panicked which means I stood there dripping and making fish faces. No sounds came out of my throat. Somehow, the monster was behind me, because I could see myself and the monster in the reflection.
Then it dawned on me that some rotten person had simply taped a photo of a dangly-eyed, fanged creature on the mirror.
I believed I knew exactly who that person was.
Since my heart had calmed down to its normal rhythm I pondered my response. My father slept soundly just a few steps down the hall. Hmmm. Whatever should I do? I brushed my teeth and considered a range of punishments starting with ice cold water. But then I recalled that revenge is better served cold.
To be continued…..
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