so i married norman bates

Me and Shane have this game we like to play. No, let me rephrase, Shane has this game he likes to play. It’s called, “Scare the Pants off Angela.” This is how it works:

I’m doing something, or minding my own business, usually brushing my teeth or flossing in the bathroom off our master bedroom, when Shane will rush in, unexpectedly, making the “Reee! Reee! Reee!” noise from Hitchcock’s Psycho, after which I’ll SCREAM bloody murder, and then we have a good laugh and hope the neighbors didn’t call the police because it sounded so awful. Ha ha. Ha.

I still remember the very first time Shane really got me. We were sitting on our borrowed 10-foot yellow couch in our awesome apartment in sunny Simi Valley, California, and we were watching a Discovery Channel special -- on wolf spiders. Why were we watching this? Who knows. I hate spiders. Always have. They give me the heebie jeebies. But of course, we were 100% engrossed in this, and we're at the part about how wolf spiders like to crawl in shoes, or in the curtains, or under people’s covers and…. AAAAAHHHHH Shane LERCHES at me and I SCREAM. I hadn’t screamed like that in years. I was so mad. It’s such a weird feeling being absolutely terrified, hopping mad, and yet understandably entertained by the humor of the situation all at the same time.

I think that’s when the game began.

Fortunately, we, let me rephrase, Shane doesn’t play that often. Every once in awhile he gets me. I have the luxury at the present moment of being large with child (my friend Bryan refers to it as “a growth in my stomach,” as in “Angela, when you get that growth removed, we’ll have to play tennis sometime), so Shane has calmed down with the terrifying tendencies.

So, my big news: I got him this weekend. It wasn’t much. It was the same thing he would have done to me. He was in the bathroom off the master bedroom combing his hair, getting ready for the day, and I pushed the door open and ran in and yelled “AHHH!” And he jumped! It was awesome.

Score: Angela – 1. Shane – 12.

Later that day, I was making dinner and realized, doh!, I was missing a key ingredient. Darn that Cream of Chicken soup. Like a good husband, Shanester was off to Safeway to save the day. Let me say at this point that it snowed this weekend. Again. Snow everywhere.

Shane comes in from his errand and I am happy to see him, but before I can mentally register that he’s home and where’s my soup, he lunges a snowball at me. IN MY KITCHEN. Of course I don’t know what to do, so I catch half of it and the other half crumbles on the floor. Snow!

Score: Angela – 1. Shane – 13.

It’s a fun game.

Unfortunately (but fortunately for you, dear readers), Shane isn’t the ONLY one who has a good time scaring the pants off me. My boss at work, whose office is across from my cubicle, has a Screaming Monkey, which I believe is a trademarked item. She likes to sit at her desk, hurl the Screaming Monkey through her door and over my cubicle wall, right above my head. When I am least expecting it. Every time my heart skips several beats, I gasp aloud, and then everyone gives her a hard time for giving the pregnant lady a hard time. I heard she took it with her on vacation with a bunch of girlfriends, but she was afraid to use it since the girlfriends threatened to launch it off the cliffside of their Mexican villa to the raging oceans below.

Score: Angela – 0. Screaming Monkey – 7.

Seems like I’ve gotta come up with some threats I can make good on, or something. (Perhaps a Screaming Chicken? Watch out JJ!)