This One Time…

…a nun tried to break into my house.

Whether it’s a Jehovah’s witness or the FedEx man, there’s always someone you hide from when they knock on your door. Sometimes it’s a purely antisocial venture. Sometimes it’s because you’re wearing boxer shorts and a ratty old T-shirt, eating potato chips by the truckload and generally looking like you’ve eschewed all contact with the outside world. Whatever the reason, it’s an awkward little deal that demands strategy. If I’m on the couch watching TV (as oft happens), I dive over the coffee table and get down on the ground like I’m expecting an explosion. I know from experience that this is where I cannot be seen from the front door.

A while ago, I was pigging out and generally looking like I’d eschewed all contact with the outside world when I heard a knock on the door. I leapt over the coffee table and hit the deck. The knock came again. I didn’t move. I counted off the seconds as a silence descended. I gave them thirty seconds to give up and another thirty to retreat down the driveway, and another thirty to get away from the house. After a full minute and a half, I was about to straighten up when I heard the knock again.

They were persistent. But so was I. I became absolutely determined to wait them out. They continued to knock periodically for another ten minutes, if you can believe that. I started to wonder if this was urgent. They weren’t pounding urgently on the door or saying “Open up, this is the police” or anything like that, but still. I considered answering, but it seemed like every minute that passed was making that infinitely more awkward. I had just straightened up when I saw my brother poke his head out from the basement and mouth to me, “Who’s at the door?” Before I could respond, his eyes got wide and horrified and a complete “what the FUCK” expression took hold of his features as he pointed wordlessly at something behind me.

I whipped around, fully expecting to see some guy trying to force his way through the front door with an axe. What I didn’t expect was to see an elderly nun peering in through out front window. And not just peering… she was actually trying to open the window. The whole thing took another turn for the weird when she saw us staring at her with our mouths open. She gave a cheerful little wave and retreated from the porch, and then practically frolicked away down the street as if the whole thing hadn’t happened.


3 thoughts on “This One Time…

  1. Nuns are so weird.

    Once, my mum was hit by three nuns and a priest in a car.

    And another time the nun at her school lied to her about calling her parents, but my mum didn’t even have a home phone then.

    Aren’t nuns not supposed to lie? Or hit and run? Or break and enter?

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