My friends and family love to tease me about my overactive imagination. The night I watched Scream, I kept waking Joe up and made him check the windows and doors, all night long, to prove that there wasn't anyone prowling around the house in a scary mask. Every time I hear a noise at night I'm imagining some crazy impossible scenario and it's usually just the cat sneaking on the counter to drink out of the sink or some random toy sounding off. Because we all know that the bad guys are going to stop and play with a toy or get themselves a drink of water before acting out their diabolical schemes. My imagination gets a little boost from the many crime shows I watch on tv. I know I shouldn't watch them. I know I'm going to get all freaked out. And yet still I watch. I don't know why. But I do.
The other night Katie was sitting on the floor around the other side of my bed. She was sitting quietly playing with some fairy dolls and was so absorbed in her play, she didn't even notice that I had entered the room. I couldn't stop myself. It was like someone took possession of me and I got down on the floor and crept ever so quietly around the foot of the bed and then launched myself around the corner yelling "Raaaahhhhhh!!!" Her reaction was classic and I'm such a horrible person because when she jumped right out of her skin, I laughed and laughed. Katie did not laugh. Actually, she ended up crying. She was mad and a wee bit freaked out. By the time I stopped laughing enough to say sorry, she had gotten over being pissed off. She sat up on the bed next to me and said "Mumma, will you do that again?" So I did. She sat on the floor and anxiously waited for me to creep around and scare her. She would sit there giggling a little in nervous anticipation and every single time I burst around the corner and yelled, she would jump up and cry. But she wanted to do it over and over. I thought to myself "what a little freak she is. Why does she want to keep doing this when it scares her so much"
Hmmmmmmm. Never mind.