You know that one movie where MacCaulay Culkin spills some milk and eats some pizza and his uncle calls him a jerk and he has to go sleep with the kid who wets the bed and he has an ugly brother who has an ugly girlfriend as well as a tarantula and then he doesn’t get to go on vacation and he steals a toothbrush and gets chased by a guy in an apron and then there is something with a guy and a shovel and other guys who step on ornaments and are afraid of voices they hear from a Talk Boy? You know the one.
I love that one. I quote it often, you little jerk. No, that’s not what freaks me out. Stop being such a disease. What freaks me out are moments that mirror events in the movie.
I had one today. I came home and no one was here. There was no note, no cars in the garage and no trace of any life other than the dog (but I don’t think she counts). This isn’t freaky. This happens often. After a few hours of nothingness, I was beginning to think I had forgotten about a mandatory family event. I sent a text. No response. I sent another text to another family member. No response. I sent a text to someone who isn’t even in the same city as me. No response.
After three unanswered texts, I had a straight up, no denying it, completely irrational but still pretty funny HOME ALONE MOMENT. In the midst of these moments, all I can think (over and over and sometimes out loud) is “I made my family disappear.” My brain usually comes up with a ridiculously awful scenario in which all of my family members and loved ones truly disappear.
When I was younger, I used to think it was the Rapture and I’d go searching for contact lenses and dental fillings (curse you, Kirk Cameron!). Now I realize the ridiculousness of this behaviour.
Instead as a fully mature adult (?), I pace around my house and plan where I will set booby traps.
Fortunately, before I got too deep into my planning, I received a text that was straight out of Anne of Green Gables (except if she could text. I mean I’m sure she would be capable if given the technology. But it would have been far less effective to break a BlackBerry over Gilbert Blythe’s head. And more expensive. I wish people still used the term bosom buddies) thus making me realize people still existed.
My loved ones didn’t disappear. But HOME ALONE MOMENTS still freak me out.
Two questions for you, my dear blog readers:
1. Who else went (uh, goes?) searching for empty clothes when they can’t find their families?
2. What is the sweetest booby trap you can think of?