My family will never let me live this down.

Good morning all!

I realize I'm behind in blogging of late. What can I say?  I'm old, I'm tired, and I'm not finding a lot of humor lately.  Well, that's not true.  I have been enjoying stories from Skippy and Peaches and Hubby about their work lives, which have become, on all three fronts, dramatic at an almost Shakespearean level.  Peaches mumbled something earlier this week about how, if she had a blog, she would regale her readers with the tale of why she went to the doctor's office covered in a floury paste.  (New employee at the bakery was a bit TOO enthusiastic about mixing water and flour in the giant floor mixer. Put that puppy on HIGH and watched as what essentially amounted to wallpaper paste flung itself everywhere.)

She did say, "Hey, if you don't have a topic and if Dad manages to not do anything stupid this week, you can use the story."

Hubby was not amused by that.  But I was. Hence, I shared the story.

However, I was the one who did something so magnificently stupid, it's doubtful anyone in the family will let me forget it.

But I share anyway, because I live to entertain.

So it's been brought to my attention that I startle easily.  Actually...it's become a giant running joke in the house that I startle whenever someone walks into a room.  A big part of this is because I spend much of the day alone in my house. I work from home and, while Skippy and Hubby are generally off at work or out running errands, and Peaches has her own place, I'm on my own with the cats.  So it seems like every time someone walks around the corner, I sort of jump a little.

It's gotten to the point where it's become a game. Peaches will come over to play with the cats or pick up something or do laundry. Even if I'm expecting her, she'll walk into the room and I'll startle.  Hubby made my heart skip a beat last week when he walked downstairs into the basement where I was folding laundry.  (To be fair, ever since seeing "Night of the Living Dead" I've been a little iffy in basements.)

Skippy actively tries to scare me, the little snot.

And every time I startle, or say, "Oh geez! You scared me!" these people, the people who are supposed to LOVE ME, mock me. Or they tell me, "Hey, I cleared my throat, I jingled my keys."

Well I'm a writer. Half the time I'm thinking about plot lines. The other half I'm either singing 80's tunes in my head or thinking about what movie to watch next.

So yes, it's become quite the joke...let's scare mom. Hahahahahahahahaha.

Snotwads.

But here's the thing, and this is why I'm pretty sure I'm never going to hear the end of it.

Today I managed to scare myself.

I've been working a lot in the basement on my own. Since Peaches moved out, we've got a bit more space down there and I'm moving stuff around (and getting rid of a lot of nonsense) so we have room for a home gym. (We have all the pieces for a really killer gym. I'm serious.  All we have to do is actually set it all up and use it. Want to work out?  Come on over!  We have everything but a pool.  Unless you want to take a dip in our non functioning sump pump.)

So I was down there clearing off a shelf so that I could store a tiny playhouse vanity table my mother has decided can no longer live at her house. It's a tiny little thing that's nearly 100 years old. Everyone in my family has played with it. Mom refinished it and let Peaches and my nieces play with it at her house, but now my parents are decluttering and so it comes to stay with me.  

My plan was to put it on a top shelf, lying on its back in such a way that the three fold out mirrors were protected but the thing didn't take up floor space.  To do so, I carried the vanity downstairs, set it on the floor and then grabbed an old sheet to cover it.  While approaching the vanity I saw someone's legs and feet in the basement. I knew I was completely alone, but my view to the stairs and much of the space was obstructed. All I could see was feet...

I. Freaked. Out.

I jumped and in that moment, I prepared for death...because I was certain someone was in the basement with me and it wasn't a family member.

Aaaaaand that's when I realized something:  I was looking at a reflection of my own feet and legs in the tiny three paneled mirrors of the vanity.

Now, I should also note that while I was typing this blog, Hubby came home from a work trip. I went to get a glass of water, not realizing he was home, and startled big time when I saw him. He CLAIMS he yelled, "O-la!" when he walked in, but I'm here to tell you, our house is not that big.  I heard nothing!

My family is going to startle or mock me right to death.