So when Vincenzo was younger, he used to get out of bed to pee when he wasn’t fully awake. He’d mumble some things that were close enough to words that you felt you should understand them, but you didn’t. He’d go to the bathroom and come out, still with those creepy-doll-on-your-grandma’s-shelf eyes and go back to bed. We called it The Creepy Pee.
Today’s blog is not about that. Today’s blog is the tale of an incident on a dark night not too long ago called The Creepy Tea.
Kevin was out of town that night. Normally I sleep with a meat mallet near my bed when he’s gone, for safety. Kevin thinks I’m crazy. I told him if I hear a noise in the house, I can either freeze in bed, unarmed and vulnerable, or I can get my meat mallet and go investigate.
However, I forgot the meat mallet that night and was too lazy to go get it. I texted Kevin that instead, if a robber came in I would smash one of the ceramic birds in our room over his head, then use a shard to cut his throat. Confident with my security system, I went to bed.
Around midnight, I awoke to hear a beep…beep…beep…coming from the kitchen. I lay there, hoping it would go away and wishing I had brought a meat mallet to bed because I really like those ceramic birds. But the beeping continued. Beep…beep…beep…
It didn’t sound menacing. It sounded nothing like the giant crash that had issued from the boys’ room an hour earlier and which I had decided to ignore. So I grabbed a pillow, figuring I wouldn’t have the heart to smash a Jonathan Adler bird anyway, and walked boldly into the kitchen, tensed and ready with my pillow.
And there stood Vincenzo, in front of the microwave, repeatedly pushing a button while staring vacantly ahead with glassy, blank eyes.
I cautiously approached. “Vincenzo?” He turned his glassy doll eyes on me. “Hello?” I asked.
He smiled, as if in a dream. Then he stopped smiling. “Wait. What am I doing here?” We both looked at the counter and saw a steaming cup of mint tea sitting there. “Oh. I guess I’m making tea.” He promptly sat down and drank his mug of mint tea like a boy who had no idea how close he just came to having a ceramic bird smashed over his head.
I went back to bed and tried not to think of unseeing, unfeeling dolls with glassy eyes, vacantly drinking cups of mint tea at my kitchen table.
Forget the birds. I’m sleeping next to the meat mallet tonight.
WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Roasted red pepper and tomato soup
Chocolate chip cookies