Home Insecurity
As I
stepped out of the shower, I heard someone in my kitchen downstairs. Knowing
that my wife was out, I grabbed my 1903 heirloom rifle—which no longer
works—and crept downstairs, forgetting the fact that I was in my birthday suit.
I came
around the corner with the gun raised, only to find my wife loading the
dishwasher.
“What are
you doing?” she asked.
“I
thought I heard an intruder.
I came down to scare him.”
Scanning
the contours of my doughy, naked body, she mumbled, “You didn’t need the gun.”
—Kurt Epps, Perth Amboy, New
Jersey
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