**This post is not about dieting.
It was a dark and stormy night. Actually, it wasn’t. At all. It was a quiet night full of familiar sounds of the urban nighttime—sounds that lulled me to sleep from the open window in my bedroom. Sleep slowly took me. I floated away in restful slumber. And like all good (and cliche) suspenseful scenes, I was shot out of bed at 2:30 am by an unfamiliar sound—a very loud crack! I didn’t hesitate. I sprung from my bed to see what was the matter (a little like that guy in the Night Before Christmas story but without the magic of Christmas). In what felt like one Olympic gymnast-type leap (two feet for your information) I was right in front of the window, lights still out, peering into my backyard.
That’s when I saw a man leaving my property in the darkness. He was neither rushed nor sauntering. He entered his black car which was still running in the alley. Did I mention it was a black car? Black. Yes. So much more ominous than silver or tan or even blue. Everything was black. The alley. His shadow. His car. My startle became blood-thickening fear.
Too many questions without answers flew around my head. Who was this guy? What did he want? Why was he here? Did he take anything? Did he wreck anything? Why my house? Did I know him?
Adrenaline kept me awake until 4:00 am. Eventually, I fell asleep. And I dreamed—of monsters kicking in my backdoor; of people vandalizing my house; of shadows lurking—making their way up to my bedroom like a blood-sucking vampire.
Morning came.
At 6:00 am I quit the fight with the night and my dangerously overactive imagination. I went downstairs and bravely opened the back door prepared to see something missing or something wrecked. The daylight was much more comforting than the dark. To my left was the barbeque. To my right were all the plants. There was nothing wrong. My eyes fell on something that was not part of my backyard—a MacDonald’s Skip the Dishes bag, still sealed shut. What. The. Actual. Hell.
Relief and anger—a frustrating combination.
I took the bag inside.
Contents: A chicken Big Mac. I didn’t know that was a thing until that moment. A poutine. An orange drink. People still drink that? A very melted Oreo McFlurry. I guess it was now an Oreo McMilky. A Happy Meal with chicken fingers, fries, milk, a yogurt tube and a Sonic the Hedgehog toy—and likely it was an unhappy meal because the recipient never got their food. I pretend the happy meal was not for a kiddo who was eating at 2:30 in the morning. I’m hoping it was a friendly stoner trying to satisfy his cravings.
Feeling for the driver
My relief shifted to that poor driver. My backyard is creepy. It’s even creepier when the lights are off. The crack was of an old plank in front of the stairs. This fellow must have been wondering what he was getting into in the middle of the night delivering to this alley—falling through the decking. He was probably as scared as me.
His version
I had a delivery for Mcdonald’s to a backdoor at 2:30. They’ll need a new step. Creepy backyard by the way.
He survived and I survived but I had the better story. So I win!
As always, thank you for reading lovelies.
Angie Counios 