Val is Considering the Installation of a Moat Around Her Castle

Hey! Have you heard? I hurt my back on Sunday laughing at my mom. I may have been remiss in filling everyone in on that bit of news. I’ll try to do better next injury.

On my planned day off Monday, when I was laying around in the La-Z-Boy with my (non)broken back, trying to catch a breath, I was greeted by an intruder. Not so much greeted as startled.

There I was, nearly dozing off, or slipping in and out of consciousness after returning home from dropping The Pony off at school, when I was startled awake or into consciousness by a loud car. I saw it going up the gravel road, a red sports car leaving a trail of dust. And right behind it was a white pickup truck. The strange thing about the white pickup truck was that it turned into my driveway and proceeded to the house.

I was in no state to be answering the door. I had on my comfortable sweatpants with a hole on the left waist area (like mother, like daughter), and a pinstriped shirt that may or may not have been free of stains. And black socks. Besides, my aching back did not want to hoist itself out of the La-Z-Boy and cripple over to the door. I sat, mesmerized by the possibilities.

It could be someone lost and asking for directions, in which case I owed them nothing. This is a private enclave. Nobody should be in here unless they have the permission of a resident, in which case that’s their direction-giver.

It could be the package Genius was expecting. Except that UPS has a big brown truck, and FedEx has that white contraption that tears a trench in the yard because they won’t turn around on the gravel or the concrete carport behind the garage.

It could be a ne’er-do-well bent on robbing me blind. I would deal with that if I heard a door forced open.

It could be a salesman. Too bad, so sad. Signs say no soliciting. And no trespassing. I gave the World Book guy an earful one summer at 8:30 a.m. A salesman could knock on my door until the cows come home, and I would not get up to answer.

I was about ready to drag myself to the door to see what in tarnation was going on, but then the intruder saved me the trouble. Walked right across my front porch, past the living room picture window, past the porch pew, around the corner toward the doghouses. He was a big man. Burly. With long curly hair and a beard like that portly fellow on LOST, only blond. He did not glance left or right. Clomped right on past, as if on a mission. He made a return trip about two minutes later.

I can only surmise that he might have been the electric meter reader, though I thought that was all automatic now. Besides, he was not carrying a club to beat dogs off his shins, nor a gadget to scan meters, nor an ID tag around his neck. He DID favor the bright neon green plastic work vest favored by certain utility companies. His truck was not marked, but had a yellow light on top that could flash if needed.

If this was part of the universe’s conspiracy to spy on Val Thevictorian…I must say, the quality of spies is not all it’s cracked up to be. He was no 007, that’s for sure.

At least I remained untouched in my fortress, guarded by two non-barking dogs who did not give one whit about my safety in my weakened state.

I was a reclining duck, you know.