I am woman enough to admit that I’m a little high-maintenance.
There. I said it. I need lotions and potions and grown-up face paints and curling irons, and it takes me about an hour and a half to become naturally beautiful (less if Andy doesn’t make me take a shower).
I like power. I like my power to be functional and reliable and all those nice things. I like my power to be on.
So you can imagine my distress when our power turned off this week.
We were getting ready for bed. I’d taken my makeup off and was brushing my teeth. Or tweezing my unibrow, whatever.
I was in the bathroom still being naturally beautiful, and the lights flickered.
*Flicker* *Flicker* *Flicker*
Naturally my first thought is “Holy crap, murderer.” But I try to be calm in times of crisis, so I only jumped into Andy’s arms a little bit.
Babe ohmygosh do you think there’s a murderer in our house?
No, probably not.
I don’t know, the only time the power goes off on TV is when someone’s about to get straight up murdered.
Or when somebody crashes their car into a power line or something. Can you go check out the window to see if any other houses have their lights on? I’m going to go check the breakers.
Ummm yeahhh no, I think that’s probably exactly what the murderer would want me to do. Get me right into position so he can sniper me to death. I’m gonna pass on the window thing.
Andy grumbled something then. I couldn’t really hear, but I bet he was saying that he totally loves me.
Power was out in our whole neighborhood. No power, no fan, no sleep. Again, the high-maintenance thing. I have to have the fan on, or I can’t fall asleep.
Plus, the murderer was keeping me up, duh.
Power turned back on sometime during the night, and I was able to again become naturally beautiful the next morning. Thank God.
Turns out a train derailed and crashed into a power pole or something like that.
The nerve of some people.