Why the words “I live here” scare me half to death all the time. (Bonus: My greatest fear when washing my face.)

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Those are my husband’s three favorite words.

“I live here. I live here. I live here.”
He’s like a parrot.
“I live here.”
He says that whenever I get startled to see him somewhere in the house.
“Don’t you know I live here?”, he’ll ask as I jump up in my Tae Kwon Do stance when he comes around a corner.

See, I know he lives here. Of course, I do. But, I don’t know when he is going to be walking into our closet or walking into the kitchen or walking into our room or walking down the hallway or walking into the bathroom or walking into the garage. I am not a mind reader. I can’t see through the walls!

That’s why I was really happy one day when he was in the pantry getting tea or cookies or chips or water or Coke or crackers or salt or pepper or thyme or rosemary or Tony Chachere’s or cumin or chili powder or white rice or brown rice (we have a lot of things in our pantry, just like you do, and I am not certain just what it was that he was getting) and his back was to me.

I stood there.

He turned around.

He jumped.

HA!

“I live here,” I said sweetly back.

He knew I had gotten him. “Okay, I jumped once, but you jump all the time.”

“I live here.”

“Okay, you got me.”

“I live here.”

“Okay.”

“I live here. I live here. I live here. I live here. I live here. I live here…”

(I kept going until he was out of ear shot.)

The only problem with me sort of getting him back (it wasn’t really intentional that I got him, so I don’t know if that counts as me “getting him back”) is that now he may feel inspired to get me back, even though he’s constantly getting me. I don’t want to be gotten back. I want to be the getting the back getter gotter letter better wetter setter totter goiter. Do you get me?

I suppose I could live with the thought of walking around a haunted house-like atmosphere (I LOATHE haunted houses and hate the thought of something being around the corner to purposely scare me) if I knew that he wouldn’t say “I live here” in one particular place.

This place scares the Fiddle Faddle right out of me.

That place?

The bathroom sink while I’m washing my face.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I wash my face, I get scared that someone is going to be looking at me through the mirror behind me. I don’t care if is the nicest person you ever knew, I DON’T WANT THAT PERSON STANDING THERE WHEN I’M DONE WASHING MY FACE.

Let me illustrate what I mean below.

See, here we have a blonde-headed girl washing her face with Noxema. Her eyes are closed. She’s scrubbing and moisturizing and starting to feel clean. She thinks she’s all by herself in her bathroom.

She’s still washing.

And washing.

And washing some more.

(She wore waterproof mascara.)

And, THEN, she is finished. She is rinsing off the remaining cream from her face.

All of a sudden, THIS HAPPENS.

See, the dude doesn’t get why she’s so scared.

HE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE STANDING THERE AT THAT MOMENT.

It doesn’t matter that he lives there, right?

You get me?

So, as long as my husband doesn’t try to get me back in an “I live here” scene like the one above, I’m good. I think I can handle it.

Do you have any “I live here” moments? It doesn’t even have to be with people. It can be with cats, dogs or your pet chinchilla!

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