My Lack of Trust in the Intentions of Others is Epic and Well-Documented

Last night after dinner our doorbell rang.  Hubby and I stopped our kitchen cleaning for a moment and looked at each other, confused.  What was that noise?  Our doorbell never rings.  No one wants to come visit us, especially those living around us.  And if you were to see the state of my house, you'd know why.  And when we're outside we rarely acknowledge the presence of most of our neighbors.  And, I scream shut up!!out the window at stupid barking-all-night dogs. Plus, we have a doormat that says, Go Away, so we're practically the neighborhood welcome wagon.

I automatically assume the worst when our doorbell does happen to ring on occasion.....a solicitor, a politician, or a super polite robber/mugger/escaped convict/murderer, so I send Hubby to the door.  Man up buddy.  Only the husband should be answering the door at night.  It's your duty to sacrifice yourself to the solicitor/politician/mugger/convict/thief.  I've got my eye on the kids in case I've gotta grab em and barricade ourselves in the bathroom.

Then it dawns on me....  It could be that little girl who sold me MORE Girl Scout cookies!  It could be a new supply of Thin Mint goodness! I'm already out of them after having a box for only a day and a half.  Score!  Where's my checkbook?

Turns out the person at the door was some dude with a newspaper he thinks was put at his place incorrectly and asks if it's ours but the kicker is, he was on the complete wrong street.

Hubby points out wrong street, then after some small talk, dude leaves into the night.
I make Hubby immediately shut and lock the door because clearly? That guy WAS a mugger/thief/convict/murderer.  And he was scoping out his next hit.  Us.

I feel this is really and truly the case. It's a gut feeling.  I'm practically a detective of some sort.  I firmly believe this man was using the old "oh, isn't this your mail/newspaper?" ploy to peek in our house and get a feel for who lives there.  Cuz we're the next possible target. Boy is he gonna be majorly let down when he breaks in and finds the only stuff he can steal are Barbies, Fisher Price Little People, a cat who likes to puke, bobby pins, and dirty dishes. Oh, and the porno videos are even VHS, so he can't even steal them and watch them unless he has a VCR and who still has one of those?  Dude. Picked the wrong house my friend.

I explained this logic to Hubby.  He was all, but he was super nice and clean cut and didn't look like a bad guy at all and I was all hello?  That's how the really expert bad guys roll.  They never look scary.  They look and act like everyone else to gain your trust then attack when your guard is down.  It's like kidnapping 101, moron.  Don't you watch Oprah?
And he was all, whatever.  Something's not right with you.
And I was all fine, we'll see who's right when we come home to a burglarized house... or find ourselves being murdered in bed.  THAT would suck and I'd totally say I told you so as my final words.  Epic dying guilt trip right there.  And?  If you happened to survive and I don't?  I'll haunt your ass and be all I told you so in my ghost-like moaning voice and write it in the shower fog on the bathroom mirror just to spook you and also with the alphabet magnets Wee One plays with on the fridge.  If they haven't been stolen by the bad guys, that is.

I tend to be this suspicious of others on a regular basis.  Once, when Bossy Girl was a baby we were out shopping and I had her in her stroller and I was looking at a rack of clothes.  I glanced up at her to see a strange man bent over the stroller, cooing at my baby.  I firmly and fiercely pulled the stroller back towards me, away from him, likely giving my baby whiplash, and when he looked at me, I gave him my evil glare of death that said without words, back away from my baby or lose a testicle.  Clearly he was a kidnapper, not some random nice guy who appreciates a cute new life. Clearly.
If I see a car that seems to take all the same turns I do?  They are following me and I'm tempted to drive to a police station to let them know that I know their plans.
If someone stands too close to me when I'm swiping my debit card at a store, they are obviously memorizing my card number.  Because of course.
If someone, especially a man, gets on an elevator with me and there's no one else on there with us?  I grip my phone and keys and point the big sturdy car key at him to say with body language, I will cut you if you get too close because he likely wants to grope me between floors. Probably.
So the moral of the story is I don't trust anyone I don't know, and I barely trust anyone I do know which makes my life tense and paranoid but hey, at least I haven't been mugged or groped or robbed or murdered or kidnapped.  Yet.  Actually, the not having been groped yet thing is kind of depressing and damaging to my self esteem.  Why wouldn't someone want to grope me?  What's wrong with me?  Is it my hair?  My lack of blingin accessorizing?  My baggy sweats and tennis shoes?  Why am I not grope-able?


I'm surprised I slept at all last night, waiting for the clean cut, friendly acting, newspaper wielding, slasher to return and break in.  But I did.  And I dreamed of Girl Scout Cookies.  Mmmm....