Luke, Where Is Your Father?

About ten o'clock last night, somebody rang our doorbell.  And then again.  And again.

Well, good freaking grief.  Where's the fire?

If I had normal children, they'd be asleep right now and you'd be in deep poo, mister.  But instead, we're in Bailey's room watching Fairly Odd Parents and I don't feel like walking alllll the waaaaay downstaaaaaairs to answer the door.

Besides, we already have a home church, I don't want any magazine subscriptions, and I've personally eaten 12 boxes of Girl Scout cookies this year.  That about covers any reason you might have for ringing my doorbell.

But Brian opened the door (I think he would leave me for a box of Tagalongs given the chance) and walked outside.  A few minutes later, he came upstairs and announced that we had been door ditched.

DOOR DITCHED?!  YESSSS!  WE'VE ARRIVED!  We're officially those old, uncool people who live down the street that teenagers love to watch answer the door only to discover that nobody is standing there.  IT'S A RIOT.

I sort of feel like I should start reading up on what that AARP program is all about.

So here's something that you should know about my husband:  If delinquent teenage pranks were a profession - he'd be effing Bill Gates - which would be great because then I'd have "my people" watch Fairly Odd Parents and write this blog for you.  Everybody wins.  Well, really, just me, but it's still totally worth it.  You know - for me.

And because Brian earned his Ph.D. in door ditching, he knew they'd be back.  So he decided to do what somebody did to him when he was a teenager.  And no - I'm not talking about that time when he was sleeping and they they dipped his fingers in warm water.  Come on!...  I'm kidding probably.  I'm talking about scaring the bejesus out of some pranksters!

He went out the back door, quietly opened the fence gate, walked around the side of the house and hid behind a large tree near the driveway.  And yep - sure as the firey poop that will be thrown on our doorstep next week, those punks tried to door ditch us again.

This is Brian when he was in the military.  Isn't he all handsome 'n' stuff?
Here's when the door ditching catching training began.  Try saying that 5 times fast.

One teenager waited in some nearby shrubs while another one walked up our driveway.  Brian jumped out and said,

Hey!  What are you doing?
Uh... nothing.
It doesn't look like nothing.  Are you door ditching?
No, sir.
Then why are you standing in this driveway?
Uh... I'm not sure.
Not sure?  Well, what do you know?
Uh....
Do you know your name?
It's Luke, sir.
Luke, where is your father?

I'm sorry, but I have to interrupt here.  In my head, when I hear Brian saying, "Luke, where is your father", it sounds just like Darth Vadar saying, "Luke, I am your father."  I know it didn't happen that way, but man! - wouldn't it have been awesome if it did?  And yes, that was a rhetorical.  Of course it would have been awesome!  Okay.  Back to the story....

Luke, where is your father?

Sorry.   I had to say it just one more time.   

He's at home.
And where's your friend?
I don't have a friend, sir.
Then let's walk over to those bushes and see if we can find him.

*Cowardly teenage boy/ door ditching cohort runs down the street like his pants were on fire.*

Looks like your friend left you here with me, Luke.  Do you know the man who lives in this house?
No, sir.
He's crazy!  He is crazy, Luke.  He was in the military and he was a cop.  Do you know that crazy man?
No, sir.
That crazy man is me.  So my advice to you is to find another house.  Door ditch somebody else, okay, Luke?
Yes, sir.

He eats door ditchers for breakfast. 

Tune in next week as my blog post is entitled:
Crazy ex-cop, ex-military's home completely destroyed by eggs and toilet paper  
Subtitle:
If only we still had a door for them to ditch 

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