When we lived in our flat, I never really was scared to stay home alone. We were on the fourth floor and there were so many doors to get through and so many flats to pass, I figured burglars would go for a flat on the first floor. Maaaaybe second, if they were feeling really keen.
However, now we live in a house and it is totally spooky. There are so many creaks and squeaks and weird knocks. When I’m laying in bed, and the house is silent, I can hear the man next door opening and shutting his wardrobe doors. Of course, I didn’t realize that was what the noise was until after I had officially freaked myself out about a killer creeping down the hallway towards our bedroom. Or maybe a bird being stuck in the fireplace in our room. Either way, FREAKY.
I was home alone all week. If someone had hidden cameras around the house they would see me running past windows, kicking doors open with my feet, flipping on every light in the house, and then sitting very still on the sofa, muting and unmuting the TV because WHAT WAS THAT? OMG! How much damage can I do with a coaster? HELP!
Oh, wait, it’s just someone taking out their rubbish bins.
AND REPEAT. All week long.
You know what else is scary? It doesn’t matter if it’s a gross public toilet in the middle of an intersection or a posh ladies room in a hotel. When I walk into the cubicle and see that toilet seat cover down, I’m frightened of what might be under there. I’ll usually go to the next cubicle but if that’s occupied, I have no choice but to put on a brave face.
I’ll slowly lift the lid with the toe of my shoe. Not sure why really since it’s not like a turd is gonna jump up at me, no matter how enormous it may be. But I’m just so nervous as to what I’ll see!
I can’t be alone in this.
(Speaking of bathrooms, look at the interesting art hanging above the ladies’ toilets at a ski chalet in Germany. I’m told the men’s room has equally attractive women adorning the walls. Neither Scott nor my dad would take pictures though. Spoilsports.)