Since I moved away from home, my room has become 10% Mom's sewing/craft room and 90% storage space. Which means last time I was home I had to move a coffee table to get to my bed. And as Joey was painting his room this time, our shared bathroom became storage as well. I had to dodge a mine field of trophies to get to my room or the toilet. (Death by 6-inch little gold tennis player is not how I want to go.)
This also meant brushing my teeth alongside five or six antique heirloom guns. So at 11:30, when I realized I had done nothing new, I grabbed a gun, set it by my bed, and went to sleep. I've never slept with a gun by my bed before. A heavy flashlight, yes. Mase, yes. My purse, yes. (The latter two during a hilarious (in retrospect) hostel experience in New York City.)
It was a large shotgun that doesn't work and I would never fire it even if it did, the kickback (is that the word) would kill me before my assailant felt the bullet. But as I've been watching loads of Doctor Who and am currently on the lookout for Daleks, it made me feel a little safer.
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