I’ve mentioned before that I’m a very paranoid person. Everyone’s a potential killer, every noise means danger, every corner has a vicious attacker lurking around it. But I don’t think my boyfriend quite gets that yet.

He went out with his friends last night for his birthday, and I stayed home for a night in. When it got dark and the house got scary, I text messaged him and asked him to call before he got home so I didn’t think he was a murderer when I heard the door. He agreed to do it.

Awhile later I had drifted to sleep while reading in bed. When B got home, he realized he forgot his key, but rather than call me and ask me to let him in, he decided to throw sticks at the bedroom window. The first one woke me up, but I decided I was hearing things. The second one made me break into a sweat and forsee my impending death. By the third time, I was convinced there was someone on the roof trying to break in through my bedroom window.

I grabbed the phone, and my first inclination was not call the police, but rather B. I guess I thought he could talk me down from my paranoia. But before I could hit send, he was calling me.

“Did you hear me throwing stuff at the window?”
“WHAT?! That was you?”
“I thought it would be funny, but then I realized maybe it would scare you, too.”

Maybe! Remember how I thought the sound of the door would scare me? Imagine what throwing sticks at the bedroom window might do to me! He thought I might look outside and see that it was just him. What he failed to realize is that I was under the impression that if I looked outside I’d get my face blown off.

From now on, maybe you should call me before you come anywhere near the house at night. Thanks babe.

Update: On B’s behalf I should mention that he did text message me about 30 minutes before he got home, like I asked. So I knew he was on his way. Still, he threw sticks at my bedroom window. That is always scary.