About two months ago, Jon & I & Dave went to go see a midnight movie that didn't get out until 2am. We came directly home, and Jon and Dave both passed out. I was laying in bed, unable to fall asleep because Hershe was whining for attention. At about 2:30 in the morning, there was this loud sound of glass shattering -- enough to make your heart just stop beating entirely.
Often, when I'm scared at night, I'll make sure I'm entirely covered by the blanket, and hold my breath, thinking "If I'm still enough they'll never find me." In this particular moment, when the glass was in the midst of shattering, it wasn't something I had time to think about -- it was a reaction. Within seconds (literally -- count to three), we were on the phone with the cops, and Jon was barracading us in the room, while Hershe (who is a pitbull, by the way) was hiding behind me in the bathroom.
Within 8 minutes, we had heard the crash, called the cops, they had come to the house, cleared everything, and left -- that quick. As it turns out, the shelving in our kitchen island had broken (randomly, as some things do), and all the pots, pans, and pyrex dishes had come crashing to the floor. Funny, in retrospect, but for those 8 solid minutes, I was in the middle of what I thought was a break-in.
WHAT!
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