In Case of Emergency

This weekend, while out running errands to pick up all the crap you need for Christmas cheer, we made a stop at LOWES (note that we did not go to Home Depot, it has to do with a boycott but I digress). We were there looking for icicle lights, had even promised eachother before we went inside that we would not get sucked into spending money or time on anything else. We were there for a PURPOSE PEOPLE. And the mission of getting the lights could not be compromised.

We were conditioned, focused, serious. It was game time. Kill or be killed. It was holiday season shopping for Christmas lights. People could die if we didn't execute the "in and out" of Lowes. Approximately 4 seconds after walking into Lowes, my husband was sidetracked by a Mag light flashlight.

Yeah. Turns out, it wasn't that big of a deal. No one died, and quite frankly, the holiday shopping traffic wasn't that bad. So we browsed the Mag lights.

On the ride home, Christmas lights and Mag Light having been purchased, I asked my husband why he liked the Mag Light so much. I mean, we have approximately 5 falshlights of varying sizes and quality in the house. But he had broken his Mag light and now was intent on replacing it. Why?

Turns out my husband is the United States' smallest subsection of FEMA. In a surprising explanation, it appears that the Mag Light is not only a flashlight, but also can act as a weapon if getting attacked. Yes, my husband, who has never been in a fight in his life, feels that the Mag Light is the best brand for bludgeoning someone unconscious in the event of an attack.

Okay...

This tidbit of information launched what I will heretofore refer to as "Newlywifed Emergency Evacuation Plan to be used in the Event of a Burglar." Apparently, my husband thinks often of what he should do if someone broke into our house and attacked us. I have never given this a single thought in my life. But such an event is on my husband's mind routinely. According to my husband, I am supposed to reach for the Mag Light (which will be stored under my side of the bed) and he will grab a 2 iron golf club (which will be stored under his side of the bed). He will then try to fend off the attacker. I am not supposed to assist in this. I am supposed to escape and run to a neighbor to call the police.

I see two problems with this. First, I am not going to be able to run away from some crazed burglar should he be beating my husband senseless. Just the thought of it makes me want to puke. Seriously, that burglar better hope he doesn't lay a hand on my husband or I will go so Jziditzu on his ass, that he will need his own Newlywifed Emergency Evacuation Plan. Second, my husband's nickname was Lance Romance in highschool because every time a fight broke out, he was off with a girl. See where I am going with this?

So we argue, and he explains that we both have a better chance at survival if one of us escapes. I ponder this as further details of the plan emerge. For instance, if the attacker grabs me, then my husband will be the one to run and get help. I see....at this point, I don't want to talk about it anymore, because of the throwing up feeling and all...but my husband is now on a roll. He has been waiting for the opportunity to discuss this with me apparently. It is important to him that we develop a plan.

Fine. I will humor him. But I make a mental note to bring up his job stress later. (He fights crime for a living).

We discuss the plan in detail. Which swing style you would want to use with the golf club, which club would be best (definitely an iron as opposed to a wood). Where to stand if we are waiting for the guy to come up the stairs to the bedroom, which window to jump from if necessary. And we discuss at length that we do not want to kill him...I mean, we aren't killers...but we need to protect ourselves, and frankly you never know when you hit someone in the head...And we are hitting him in the head. The first hit to the knee, the second to the head...so....all I'm saying is that you might have to kill a man. this is getting too heavy and upsetting for me.

Finally, I stop the madness. I remind him that 1.) we live in a town where the most serious crime on the weekly published police blotter is that eggs were thrown at the side of 6 houses on the 700 block of Maple Avenue; 2.) today is about putting up our Christmas lights, and good cheer; 3.) It is pointless to spend too much time on this plan, because once we have children, the entire plan needs to be revamped anyway so why not worry about it then. Reason 3 seemed to stick, so we moved on to singing Bruce Springsteen's "Merry Christmas Baby".

Flash forward to 12:30 that night, when I awake to see a man in silouette swinging a 2 iron next to the bed. "Holy Crap" I scream. "Just practicing" He says. And then tells me that I should have commando rolled across the bed and kicked him as hard as I could while simultaneously reaching for the Mag Light as we had planned, instead of yelling Holy Crap.

Just your average weekend...