Thursday, March 4, 2010

Fight vs. Flight syndrome

My husband loves gory horror movies.

But the creepy ones that mess with your mind? He just can’t handle them.

So why he arrived home one evening with a creepy horror flick was beyond me.

“Are you sure?” I asked after reading the description on the back of the box. “Young couple thinks their house is haunted and sets up a camera to figure out what’s going on.”

“Hey, I can handle it,” he insisted.

I pointed at the picture. “Looks like she’s had a boob job too,” I sniped. “No wonder the boyfriend wants to put a camera in the bedroom.”

He grabbed the case and stomped off. Oh, if only he’d listened to me.

Thirty minutes later we were watching the couple asleep in bed.

“Wow,” I whispered, “this is INTENSE. I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.”

An elbow to the ribs greeted my bad attitude. “Shh, something’s gonna happen.”

And then - finally - it happened. There in the silence. At 2 a.m. The bedroom door slammed shut.





And, for the record, that wasn’t me.

“I’d be so outta there,” Captain Obvious said. “In the car, to the hotel and calling a realtor the next day.”

“Please. You’d have been out of there after she found the spider in the laundry room and freaked,” I pointed out.

Silence. “I don’t like spiders,” my husband finally muttered.

“Their first mistake was putting the bed on the same wall as the door,” I pointed out. “Everybody knows that’s bad feng shui.”

My husband scoffed, “Like you know anything about feng shui.”

“I know enough you don’t put the bed on the same wall as the door. Harkens back to caveman days when they laid their Mastodon rug on the OPPOSITE wall. You know, so they’d be able to see when a saber toothed tiger wandered in.”

“Did you just use the word ‘harkens’?” he asked, completely ignoring my tip about survival of the fittest. Sigh. Men.

As the movie continued, the paranormal activities escalated, the guy got more stupid and the girl got more annoying. As if that were possible.

“She needs to suck it up,” I stated the obvious. “All this ‘Do something. Save me. Help me’ nonsense. It’s embarrassing.”

“What?” my husband countered. “Are you telling me if some demon/ghost thing grabbed your leg, whipped you outta bed onto the floor and dragged you down the hallway by your ankle at 3 in the morning, you wouldn’t be screaming and wetting your pants?”

“No,” I answered calmly.

“You’re so full of it.”

“Yes,” I said with bravado, “full of awesomeness.” I lifted my right leg and mimed the full-on Karate Kid flamingo move that took down that blonde dude and bragged, “I would so kick that demon’s as-...uh....” I stuttered to a halt due to little ears in the next room and decided to go with the Rated G version. “I would so kick that demon’s rear end.”

An undignified snort greeted my answer.

“Hello? It’s a demon,” my husband said. “Can’t see him. Can’t feel him. Can’t poke him in the eye like the Three Stooges. And you definitely. Can’t. Kick. His. Rear. End.”

While I figured out the answer to that one, we watched as the guy on the movie whipped out a Ouija board.

“Oh, now that’s just asking for trouble,” I said. My husband turned to me and asked, “You believe those things actually work?”

“I’m just sayin’ there are some things in this universe you don’t mess with,” I said. “A Ouija board is one of them.”

My husband shot up straight and said, “What? You believe in ghosts? How did I not know this?”

I shrugged, “Just because I’ve never seen one doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I believe in aliens too. But not alien ghosts. Because that would just be weird.”

As he mulled that one, I added, “Just wait. She’s gonna go Lizzie Borden on him. And then she’s gonna take off with his 60” flat screen TV.”

As the final minutes ticked by, we watched in fascination as my prophesy came true.

I smirked and nodded in a told-you-so kinda way as the demon girlfriend hurled the boyfriend’s slashed body at the camera. The screen went black. Movie over.

My husband could only stare in horror.

I patted his knee and sweetly said, “Next time, get ‘The Sound of Music.’ There aren’t any spiders in that one.”

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