Honey? Are you awake? Honey? Do you hear that? Do you — really? For ten minutes? Huh. That long? Huh.
It sounds like the door. It sounds like someone’s trying to jimmy the lock. I wonder why they call it that — “jimmy.” We should Google that.
There it is again. No, it’s not your brother. No, he doesn’t have a key. Yes, I know you told me to give him a key. When he returns my skimboard and promises to stop “borrowing” money out of your purse, I will give him a goddamn key. He owes us, like, two hundred dollars.
It doesn’t sound like a key. It keeps going in and out. What do they call that? Got it — burglarious tools. No, I am not making it up. It’s a thing. Burglarious tools. You can Google it. Burglarious tools. Stop what? That’s ridiculous — I’m not repeating it because I like saying “burglarious.” You’re ridiculous.
Christ, I think it’s opening. Where’s the alarm? Why isn’t the alarm going off? Oh, right – we canceled the alarm. Okay, we didn’t pay the alarm bill. Okay, okay, I didn’t pay the alarm bill. Fine! I forgot to pay the alarm bill. There. I took responsibility. Happy now?
Okay, it’s okay – Toby’s going downstairs. Good boy, Toby! Get him, boy! Kill! Get — wait, is that — kibble? Is that the dog we rescued from certain death having a snack? Oh, great. Good to know our man-eating Rottweiler can be bought for a scoop of kibble. Good to know, Toby!
We need to call 911. Where’s my phone? Where’s — oh, right. I forgot. Someone decreed we couldn’t have phones in the bedroom. Someone decided we’d communicate more and sleep better and awaken more refreshed. Great — we’ll be refreshed when we describe our stolen crap to the cops.
Jesus, was that the window? Why break the window if he’s already — never mind. I said never mind. Yes, yes, it’s the wine glasses, not the window. No, I did not load the dishwasher. I said I’d do it in the morning. Yes, I know your folks are coming for brunch. I was going to do it in the morning. I didn’t think I needed to tidy up for tonight’s home invasion.
Okay, enough of this. I’m getting the shotgun. Once this idiot hears me rack that bitch he’s gonna — oh, right. I can’t rack it, because I don’t have it, because the police still haven’t issued me my permit. What? Well, it feels like a pretty high priority right now, doesn’t it? Did I mention how happy I am we moved to Boston for a job you already hate? Cradle of the revolution, my ass.
Honey, where are you going? What’re you — honey, wait. It took me six hours to hang the T.V., you can’t just rip it off the wall! You can’t — WHOA. Okay. Settle down. Honey? Where are you going? Honey?
Jesus Christ that was loud! You had to throw it down the stairs? That thing cost eighteen hundred bucks! You couldn’t just — wave it at him? I don’t know. Wait — is that the door closing? He’s gone? Oh, my God. Thank God. Thank God. Honey, that was awesome. You sounded really scary. I mean, I couldn’t really hear you from under the pillow, but for a second there, I swear — you sounded exactly like your mom.