I holed up in the house today with a book and refused to change out of my pj’s.
For the first time in ages I had the house to myself. So when the doorbell rang, I ignored it. Since I couldn’t figure guests or salesmen into my newfound hermitlike existence, I chose not to answer when unknown man in pickup stopped by.
I also chose not to answer when my step-mother-in-law called, hinting into the answering machine that she might be on her way (a surprise to me). I didn’t even feel too guilty acting like I wasn’t home when she and my father-in-law stopped by 30 minutes later.
In fact I only put my book down long enough to get out of bed and make sure the doors were locked beforehand, then listened joyfully as car doors slammed and Indiana returned from guard dog duty, indicating their departure, and my return to the borrowed book and my world of fiction.
I suppose my conscience pricked a little behaving that way, though I was unsure which of the ten commandments I was breaking.
I guess it feels kinda like hiding from your dad when you are really little, too little to know that hiding wont make any difference, because eventually you will have to come out and face the music anyway and boy are you gonna get it when you do.
Only I just finished my last chapter uninterrupted and so far haven’t been struck by lightening or yelled at. Maybe that will change later when I have to confess to Nic.
Sometimes we regress I suppose.