I believe it was Sandra, the brillers and beautiful Sandra from Blog Chocolate, who came up with “Flashback Fridays.” And, I give credit where credit IS DUE.

Anyway, I thought maybe we’d try a FLASHBACK FRIDAY today and see how it goes. ‘Sides, I mentioned this story in passing on the gossip blog, and THE CROWD WENT WILD I got comments asking me for more deets (ahem, emphasis on “I GOT COMMENTS” — leave me one there once in a while, will ya? Homegirl needs some props now and then).

I was in high school when this crazy incident went down. Well, I SHOULD have been in high school, but I decided I needed the morning off — so I skipped my first two classes.

I was the only one home. Fam was out doing good-citizeny things. I was lounging in front of the TV. Feet on the coffee table. Loving every minute of my rebel-arse freedom.

DING DONG (that would be my doorbell).

“Ugh,” I thought to myself, “like, leeeeeave me alone! I’m NOT getting it. It’s probably a canvaser or something anyway. NOT getting it. Going upstairs to take a shower. Gotta look good for the fashion-show rehearsal OF which I am the choreographer [yes, Gorgeouses, I had to throw that little factoid in there for you so you'll think I was actually COOL in high school...].”

“It’s okay,” I tell my GORJ, BIG dog Sasha (part collie, part German Shepherd), “Let’s go upstairs.”

As I’m dragging my sorry arse upstairs, the bell rings again.

DING DONG.

“Argh,” I think, “Go away!”

I take off my flannel pajamas. Check naked self in full-length mirror to make sure still skinny. Mmmm, no. Fat today. Oh well. Suddenly, I hear Sasha growling and rustling the blinds in my sister’s bedroom next door. “So unlike her,” I think.

I start walking, nekkid, toward the washroom to shower — the fam was out, so WHY NOT walk around naked? But, then I get a nudge of curiousity. A nudge that takes me BACK into my room where I throw on the giant yellow terrycloth bathrobe I haven’t touched in YEARS.

Sasha keeps growling…. Blinds keep rustling. “So not LIKE her,” I repeat to myself.

I go into my sister’s room. “Sasha! What are you doing, girl?”

My mind didn’t register HIM at all. All I saw was my dog.

But, then. It registered. HE registered. There was a man. Straddling my sister’s window sill. Cutting the window screen with a knife and shushing Sasha. Red gloves with a white stripe along the side. Clear as day (even now).

At first we just stared at each other. Then, I uttered an indescribable “yelp” or “quiver”? And, I RAN.

I RAN down the stairs, and I called…….my father…..at work:

“Hello?” His secretary answers.

“Hello,” I say, “Is Paul there, please?”

“One moment please.”

[I'm on hold. Music. Music. Music. MUSIC#$*@$#!!]

“Hello?” It’s my dad. THANK. GOD.

“HI-DAD-HOW-ARE-YOU?” I (yes, actually) say.

“Fine, Hale, busy, but –”

“HE’S-IN-THE-HOUSE! HE’S-COMING-DOWN-THE-STAIRS!”

“What?”

“Dad, there’s a man in the house! He came in through Dara’s window! He was petting Sasha to get her quiet! WAIT. I HEARD A BANG! I HEARD A BANG!”

“I’m calling 9-1-1! Stay on the phone! Stay on the phone!”

I wait. I tremble and wait and listen. FINALLY, after about 1.5 seconds, my dad says, “Get out of the house! Get out of the house. Maybe turn on the alarm!” Clearly, we were both in shock.

I run to the side door. GRAB A PAIR OF UNDERWEAR. Yes, I GRAB A PAIR OF UNDERWEAR. And, I leave the house. Nearly charging headfirst into hot policeman’s chest. Me. In my big yellow robe and, thankfully, underwear.

They never found the guy. He was never “COMING-DOWN-THE- STAIRS.” But, there was a bang: the police learned that he JUMPED OFF THE ROOF OF OUR GARAGE to escape.

They thoroughly searched the house, fingerprinted my sister’s torn window screen. But found nothing that would lead us to the guy. Except one. Thing. In the shed. In our backyard. They found something. Let’s just say it was NARSTY. It was definitely his. His sh*t. In our shed. Ew.

Obviously, the guy was camping out in our shed the night before and waited to invade until he thought everyone left the house for the day. Amazing what sh*t can reveal, isn’t it….

That afternoon, I went to school for the fashion show rehearsal. Was, of course, totally paranoid that the man with the red gloves was lurking in a nearby bush ready to pounce. But, I never saw him again. Wasn’t even able to identify him in any of the mugshots the police laid out for me in their downtown office the next day….

Of course, everyone at the fashion show rehearsal was all concerned about me: “I heard you were in the shower and some guy was, like, in your house! Are you okay!? Like, omigod!”

By the way? The monkey is now peeing on the toilet…for THIS:

She gets to open it once I say she’s “toilet trained” and done with diapies (during the day) for good. Needless to say, I’m afraid VERY AFRAID for her brother when she finally gets her hands on it….

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