Who is that woman watching us?
I set the burglar alarm on the house before we left for the
afternoon. Just what is it that I am protecting?
Maybe I was afraid someone would make off with the dust bunny
kibbutz under the bed in our bedroom that I have been avoiding for
fear they have grown so large, even real carrots won’t sustain them
any longer and they are now carnivorous.
p
Who is that woman watching us?
I set the burglar alarm on the house before we left for the afternoon. Just what is it that I am protecting?
Maybe I was afraid someone would make off with the dust bunny kibbutz under the bed in our bedroom that I have been avoiding for fear they have grown so large, even real carrots won’t sustain them any longer and they are now carnivorous.
We don’t own anything worth much, but just the idea that pushing a few buttons that make satisfying beeping sounds will trigger something that keeps people from finding out if The Husband is a boxers or briefs guy should give me peace of mind. Me and the rest of the world.
I thought it was ironic that before we had the alarm, when I left the house, I felt safer leaving it than after pushing those few little buttons, at first. As if having the alarm, somehow made the house look more “interesting” to those who might be on the lookout for “interesting” houses.
When we got the alarm, I thought, “OK, this is what adults do. They safeguard all of their good stuff. I’m supposed to be an adult.”
But then I remembered that we don’t have any good stuff. I imagined an eager burglar breaking in, anticipating various safes behind priceless paintings and stopping dead in his tracks, deflated. We’d come home to a newly decorated house and a note.
“Looks like you need this more than I do. Signed, The Burglar.”
“P.S. “The roast in the oven should come out at 6:00.”
It’s more about protecting the family than anything else. It’s nice to have the alarm on when we’re all home, for the added bit of security. But I learned the hard way that the “small pet-immune motion detector” really works. I am not a small anything … and certainly not a small pet.
Being a lover of all things electronic, the thing that I thought was the most cool, was the speakerphone feature. Don’t ask my why. The alarm panel is literally right next to a phone. I could easily pick up the actual phone. But this was more bells and whistles. I also learned that if you are on the phone but want to switch to the speakerphone, the feedback is so startling, it has virtually cured me of ever using that feature again.
It’s also nice to have someone to talk to at night, if The Husband is working over-time. With just a touch of a button, a commanding female voice (there is no other kind in my house) says, “Armed. Exit now.” She means it, too. A series of beeps comes from the panel and if you haven’t left, you are now a safe prisoner in your own home. Just don’t let the cat out after plaintive wailing at the front door. The cat will now be lodged in the ceiling. And so will you.
We all tiptoed around, the first week The Alarm lived with us. I think on some level, we were all afraid she was watching us. She had become personified. I envisioned her gaining control over all of the appliances, creating a merger of hypercritical, disgruntled tools of mass emotional destruction.
The refrigerator would demand that I “Exit Now” and the garage would insist, “Kelly, pick that up. I am not your mother,” every time I attempted to throw the recyclables into the bin from the distance of the door leading from the house and missed, which I typically do.
If she ever becomes more evolved, I think I’ll sic her on the carnivorous dust bunnies.
