I remember as a kid, having a pretty wild imagination. I had these imaginary friends that caused all kinds of trouble, and I’d attempt to pin the blame on them for everything, including my own random bloody noses (hereditary nosebleeds, who knew?) “Lucy punched me in the nose!” I’d say.
As I got older, I still imagined. I could think up whole conversations, situations, people I’d never seen… I talked to myself quite a bit. Is that because I was the youngest of five and a singleton after twins? Maybe. I know I wanted a twin. I still do, actually, so Mama, if you’re holding out on me about my secret twin raised by another family, you can tell me. I’ll still come to Thanksgiving.
The imagination is still good and strong. The other night, I was cheerfully consuming thousands of calories and watching some movie the MOG wouldn’t watch (he was on tour). The house was fairly quiet, except the squeaking and clicking and wind and chaos that old houses are prone to, when I noticed a steady buzz outside. That sounds like a helicopter, I thought. Then sirens. Lots of sirens.
|Me, a re-enactment|
I texted Mandy about the noise and carried on with my face-stuffing. Moments later, Mandy called and told me that there were helicopters and police cars everywhere on the corner of our street. Then Liz called from a street or two over and said the helicopters were over her house and policemen (or you know, policepersons) were going through backyards with flashlights. Now the imagination kicked in. If there were a marauder in my back yard, what would I do? I pondered this for a moment, and then the timer beeped.
I had to make a decision. My 25 minutes were up, and my Black Burgundy hair was complete. If I waited to hear gunshots and explosions and such, I risked ruining my follicles. I couldn’t take that kind of a chance, so it was off to rinse, and then blowdry. Lucky for me, the perp was apprehended down the street while I finished coiffing. Lucky for him, that is. Who knows what Lucy mighta done…