There's a skeleton in my closet.

Now that the eve of ghosts and goblins is upon us, I feel the time is right to  

resurrect an old post I deleted.  When I attracted my very first follower
 I hit the panic button and deleted a few of my questionable posts.

You know the posts I'm talking about.  In the early days of blogging when

you don't give a hoot who's reading and you show your true colors.

Yes, those posts.

So, without further ado, today I'm subjecting treating you to my favorite deleted post
and in the process, exposing one of the skeletons in my closet.

Post title:  Knock, knock.
Originally published in the fall of the year 2010.
 Playlist song that accompanied post, I Hear You Knocking by Dave Edmunds.

Let me set the stage for you.

It's a lazy Saturday morning and you're sleenavutzing (my Baba's term for lazing around)
on the couch with your laptop and cup of coffee, still wearing your ratty old jammies,
hair all askew and no make-up,  last night's pizza box and dirty dishes on the kitchen table,
 Hershey's Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate Nuggets with Toffee and Almonds wrappers strewn about,
and the unthinkable happens.......


the doorbell rings!!!!

Yikes!!!!

Now I'm not sure what the average Joe does in a situation like this,
but here at 911, I've been known to drop to the floor and crawl to the nearest hiding spot,
puh-ray-ing  that I remembered to lock the doors the night before!

I was talking to a friend one day when she mentioned having to perform
the combat crawl to avoid a bothersome relative knocking at her door.
What?!!  There's actually a name to this maneuver
 and it's practiced in households other than my own?!   Well, call me relieved!
I'm normal, after all.

I'm quite sure it's a genetic trait I've inherited and passed on to one of our two daughters.
  I carry the slithery trait, but my husband most definitely does not.
 He's one of those people who always answers the phone, and likewise the door.
  He gets irritated with me when I stage whisper, "I'm not home!" as I
run up the stairs two at a time towards a safe haven.

He's not a natural at fabricating little white lies on the spot either.
He even tries to shame me into answering the door by saying,
 "There is something seriously wrong with you!"  to which I reply,
"No, there's something wrong with you.  Everybody does this!"

Don't they?



Well. I gotta run.
Somebody's at the door!!!

Bill:   "Ummmm, Vickie?  Vickie who?  Oh, her.
Ahhhh, let me think.  I saw her put her running shoes on,
so she's probably out training for next year's Grandma's Marathon.
 I'm sure she won't be home for hours, possibly even days.

(I've never run a mile in my life.  Intentionally, that is.)

So tell me.  What's in your closet?

Vickie