Last night someone attempted to break-in to our house. If that was not enough, they decided to do it only in their underpants. That’s if they were wearing any. We know this as the rest of their clothing was on our back verandah and in our garage. They were sopping wet so we (and the spunky too-young police office with the big gun) deduced he’d gone for a swim in the lake first.
This freaks me out on a number of levels:
– a naked man was on our back verandah for goodness knows how long last night
– he leant up against our back door and smoked about 15 Winnie Golds.
– he tried to break-in through a back window, trashing one of our fly-screens and attempting to do so with a kids paint-brush
– the opposite window was open as Mum has watched too much hysteria-inducing ‘current affairs’ shows and is convinced our unflued gas heater is killing us and insists on opening every window in our house when its on
– our cat is missing.
Spunky policeman is sending around CSI to dust for fingerprints and take the cigarette butts away for DNA testing.
I am simultaneously freaked out and quite chuffed that something so potentially dangerous could happen to us. The freaked out part is currently winning.