I need a babysitter. For me.

So, I have a patch of poison ivy on my neck in the shape of a hickey and a bruise on my forehead in the shape of my sink faucet. Why, you might ask? Because I had to stay home alone last night. I am the biggest chicken in the world when it comes to staying home by myself in a house. It never bothered me when I was in a dorm, or lived in an apartment, but put me in a house? I think there's burglars at every turn.

When I was little, in my mind getting kidnapped was not a matter of "if", it was a matter of "when". Much like my house burning down, it was certain doom, I just didn't know exactly when the event was going to transpire. I had a plan though, lest you worry. My plan was to befriend my captors. I was going to be sweet and nice and make them like me and then they wouldn't hurt me. There would be no kicking or screaming from me, and I figured they would probably let me play Atari and read my books if I was a good girl. I was worried about missing school though, never was able to reconcile that possibility in my mind. Perfect attendance was an important goal to me.

Anyway....this brings us to 2007, when we have a 31 year old adult who hears boogeymen in every closet and under every bed. And so begins the routine. All doors must be compulsively locked all day long. The alarm, normally not set, is turned on. Before dark, a thorough search of the house must commence in search of the Bad Guy. More lights than are good for the globally warming environment are illuminated. The dog? Sleeps in the bed with me. I give myself treats to reward self for being a big girl.

Last night's spoiling began after Piglet went to bed and I rustled up a special dinner for myself. Now, when cooking for one, it's a lot easier to just whip up a sandwich, but what's the fun in that? I defrosted some frozen burrito meat and created me some yummy burritos. The treat? RAW ONIONS. Yummers. I usually refrain from such delicacies out of consideration for Mr. Pigs. Then I topped that off with a cup of peanut butter cup chocolate ice cream, which I promptly counted as one of my junk food 'o the day on my trusty chart. Where's all this going? you're probably asking.

Well. Turns out the onion breath was pretty unbearable, even for me, so I headed for a thorough brush, floss and Listerine treatment. Since it was onion related, I vowed to rinse longer than the standard 30 seconds for good measure. Do not do this. It burns. Somehow, I found myself away from the sink at a time when I urgently needed a spitting receptacle. Racing at warp speed for the sink, I thrust my head under that faucet and - WHABAM! - bashed my head into the hot water turner onner. It hurt kind of a lot.

Rubbing my new bruise pitifully, I climbed into bed to curl up with Gus, who was luxuriating in the knowledge that he didn't have to go to his room for the night. And so we snuggled. And that's how I came to have poison ivy on my neck in the shape of a hickey. I conclude that staying home alone is bad for my health.