But I think my imagination is running wild…wait not even just wild, but running away…along with my sanity.    About two hours ago, some guy comes to the door asking if he could speak to my parents (yeah, like I look like I’m 12) about something he’s selling.  *Puhleeze, gimme a break.  Does that line even work anymore?*  Apparently, some sort of magazine drive…$40 a pop.    I say that I’m not interested and he says “well, perhaps you’d be willing to buy one and donating it to the local shelter or childrens’ home, if you have a check or cash we can just finish this right up”…I say, “look,  we don’t use checks and I don’t have any cash so you’re out of luck”…he then says, “your husband drives a blah blah blah right?” (What?  You’re staking out my house?  How the fug do you know what we drive?) “I’ll just backtrack later and maybe he’d be willing to buy something…” and then walks away.   Shit.  Wow.    I think I pee’d a little.    Well, my mama didn’t raise a stupid child so I get on the trusty phone and dial our local P.D..   I’ve seen them drive up and down the street about 7 times in the past hour so I’m feeling a bit more secure but now my “single”  sunny happy weekend suddenly has a piss rainstorm.   Ugh.  

 Oh, by the way, I guess this is the 3rd in the “bad things happen in threes”.  The first was the 40lbs of frozen chicken banging against my shin and landing on my foot 2 weeks ago, then the whole burn incident last week and now this.  I fuckin’ need a vacation.