The bad news is, I'm totally freakin' distracted from it, now.

About 20 minutes ago, the doorbell rang three times in rapid succession. CREEPY. I was suddenly sad that I've taken a "no guns in the house" stance all these years. (I'm not sad at the moment, though. I'm too impulsive for gun ownership, or at least, not cool-headed enough. I *am* sadder I don't have a baseball bat handy, though. And some skills to use it, if necessary, but mostly, a bat looks intimidating, whereas in the dark, I'm not sure anyone could see a gun.)

So then, after panicking slightly and running around to make sure all the doors were locked, I came back to peer out the window. I hesitated a while, until I saw some movement in the driveway, then worked up my nerve to open the door and say in the lowest voice that I can project, "Who's out there?" And three kids, about 15ish, ran off like bats out of hell, screaming and laughing and swearing.

And I really wanted to shoot them, until it really occurred to me that they were kids. At least, shoot over their heads.

See why I shouldn't have a gun?

(Note, this is not the entry for US 2nd amendment arguments. You aren't going to change anyone's mind, no matter how that mind is made up, regardless of your steaming rhetoric, in either direction. I promise.)

Now, here's the writer lesson, the "now I know how that feels" lesson. I had a seriously knee-jerk fight reaction to a scare. That was interesting. And while I didn't actually exert myself physically, I feel like I ran about a mile, maybe two, and then stopped to lift very heavy weights. My left shoulder, the one that used to ache but hasn't since I started living a healthier life? ACHES. My wrists ache. My neck aches.

I do not do adrenaline well.

Ouch. There goes my head. Now it aches, too.

Also? Boys of the world? You do not actually a) impress girls with this shit; b) you definitely don't impress girls who aren't home with this shit; and c) batshit stepmothers might just shoot you, if they are foolish enough to own guns. It can't possibly be worth it.

Oh, yeah, my husband put on pants about ten minutes later and went downstairs to get a glass of water.

Idiot teenage boys are in no danger there... Of course, having been one, he maybe takes it less seriously.

ETA: Of course, now he tells me he said to call the cops, but of course, I was too busy looking for a bat to hear him.

The doorbell rang half an hour ago. A little blond boy was at the door.

"Hey. There's some kid who lives here. Can she come out and play?"

Startled, I said, "Uhm, Kayla's not here today."

"Ok, thanks!" And then, as he jogged away, "Kayla. Kayla. Kayla." Muttered to himself.