Have you ever seen a pajama-clad, narcotic, delirious, angry, terrified, AND pregnant chick holding a loaded shot gun, a cell phone squeezed tightly between her shoulder and ear, convulsing uncontrollably? Well, if you had been a fly on the wall at the Funston residence on Dec. 16th around 2:30am CST, that’s what you would have seen.
Let me start from the beginning…
Once upon a time, a husband left his pregnant wifey to go help his parents out in New Mexico, for a week. The plans were the wifey would join him a week later for the holidays.
“Don’t stay by yourself while I’m gone,” he warned, “we live in Memphis.” (Translation: one step down from Detroit, the most dangerous city in the country).
“Okay,” said the wifey, “I won’t. I’ll have someone stay with me or I’ll stay with them.” Safety first, safety always, right?
Well… the wifey lied. She stayed by herself. And days one through six went by without a hitch.
Night seven comes around.
Sleep overcame the wifey.
Suddenly, around 2:30am the piercing house alarm jolted wifey awake.
Fear aroused by the realization of potential danger.
A massive shotgun, longer and larger than the wifey’s leg was pulled out.
(It’s amazing how quickly one can teach themself how to use a gun when fear settles in, whether or not it’s the safe and correct way to do it)
9-1-1 was dialed.
Police were dispatched.
The 9-1-1 operator attempted to console the convulsing wifey.
The gun was cocked once.
A massive bullet shell flew out of the shotgun and onto the bed. Oops.
(The wifey was pretty sure that was supposed to stay IN the gun. Oh well. The noise probably scared the m’er f’er who was trying to break in. Good.)
The 9-1-1 operator asked if the wifey was alone and armed.
The response: “Yes! My husband left with ALL my damn animals and I’ve got a massive shotgun pointed into the hallway, and I have NO idea how to use it so SOMEBODY’S going to get hurt!” (No lie. That was the response.)
Five minutes passed and the cops finally showed up.
(Within those 5 minutes the gun was cocked once again, where another bullet shell flew through the air. Double oops. Wifey was running out of bullets.)
When the cops finally arrived, the operator directed the wifey to disarm the gun and let the cop into the house. One problem. The wifey had no clue how the hell to disarm the gun. Oh well. Screw it.
She opened the front door for the cop.
In rolled the biggest, highest looking cop she’d ever seen.
(Yes, I said “highest.” No joke. The cop looked like he stuck his face into a pile of poison oak. His eyes were pretty much swollen shut and red as Sadam Huessin’s burning skin in hell.)
So the cop’ers searched around the house and found nothing.
Cop’ers went to leave when nothing was found.
“Wait!” yelled the hyperventilating preggo, “I don’t know how to disarm or reload my gun. You need to do it for me!”
(This was the point when the cop finally showed some sort of emotion and looked at wifey like she was a complete idiot).
Cop’er showed the wifey what to do. Nothing in his mini Shotgun 101 class stuck. She had no clue what to do with it, so she left and went to a friend’s house.
(Make note: This friend is a better friend than I! I would have ignored any phone call that I got at 3am! Thanks Molly!) 🙂
So it turns out that the house alarm didn’t go off due to a mean, bad guy trying to rape and kill me.
Instead, it went off because all the phone lines in the neighborhood went down and triggered my house alarm, which was attached to the house phone line.
I almost shot a hole through my roof and bedroom door because of a dead phone. I’m sure State Farm would be happy to cover THOSE costs. Oh, and did I mention that I put my husband into a panic, because when I was hyperventilating over the phone with him, he couldn’t understand what I was saying and thought I’d been raped?
Even more awesome.
I don’t understand how “I got scared” is translated into “I got raped.” Weird. But whatever. I lived.
And that’s my “I almost got raped and killed by a dead phone line” story.
Notice: Picture below is pretty close to what I looked like that night with the shotgun. Hot as hell, hanging out of a car window. Wait…no. No, it’s not.