Thieves! Evildoers! While I was over at a friend’s house last night, I receive a call from my husband to not drive home if I’ve been drinking because cops were crawling all over our neighborhood looking for the fool who attempted to break into our garage. Yikes!
Why on earth would someone want to break into my garage? To steal a few bikes? Granted, we have some nice bikes, but really, as one of the cops said to John, “There are plenty of easier ways to steal a bike.”
To steal our ‘56 Chevy? Good luck on that one. First of all, there are numerous locks and contraptions to make your way through on the garage door for it, plus a Club on the steering wheel. Not to mention the fact that you’d be quite obvious driving down the road in a bronze-and-tan ‘56 station wagon. I don’t think that was it.
Was the cable guy we threw out of our house for being incompentent getting back at us for yelling at him and John calling him an incompetent hack? Wouldn’t you just throw a brick through the window?
The thing is, John’s car was unlocked, inside is quite a bit of valuable stuff-tools, CDs, etc. But nothing was taken.
So, what the hell? There have been a few garage break-ins in the area lately. Don’t we just have a band of unruly teenagers on our hands who think it’s cool to break into garages and steal bikes and sell them for cash?
The thing is, we live in freakin’ Mayberry. We don’t lock our doors at night. We leave all our first floor windows open, and if my daughter can sneak in a window when I’m not home to change her clothes or get something when she’s playing down the street, certainly some burglar can climb in my den window and steal my tv and my computer, and be out again in two minutes.
I hope I’m not giving anyone any ideas! Ha Ha.
Well, nothing got taken. John and the dogs heard the loud popping noise when the thief was attempting to pop open the locks. The dogs barked their heads off and the guy fled, John watching him go through the upstairs hall window. But I have an odd feeling he’ll be back. I’d like to be sitting in the garage when he comes back, with a cold piece of metal in my hand. That’d scare him, wouldn’t it?
I feel so violated.
