Late One Evening In A Quiet Suburban Chicago Apartment

We have a really nice, corporate style, hotelesque apartment for the summer. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, cable TV, internet, the works. Even dishes and crockery. Living it up in style in the North-West suburbs of Chicago, we are. We even have housekeeping come in once a week - included in rent - to change our sheets, give us fresh towels and clean the place. I want to live here forever.

So I was alone in the apartment this past weekend; Naynesh had gone to Indianapolis to watch the United States Grand Prix. I too would have gone but I was lazy. And Formula 1 without Michael Schumacher can hardly be called Formula 1. Although Sebastian Vettel (only teenager ever to score a point in a Formula 1 race, that too on debut) may rekindle my interest if he finds a team next year.

But I digress. As usual. So I was alone in the apartment Saturday night folding laundry, listening to Joe Purdy and digesting dinner when there was a knock at the door. "Ah, no doubt some pretty young thing who wants to keep me company and discuss Liverpool's chances of luring Samuel Eto'o away from Barcelona this summer" I said to myself, quite reasonably.

I moved noiselessly to the door - barefoot on soft carpet you see. I looked through the peephole and saw not a pretty young thing but a rather large gentleman of Hispanic appearance with a neck as wide as my waist sporting a shiny gold chain. He was in a bright yellow sleeveless shirt. His tree-trunks-for-arms gave me the impression that he wasn't the housekeeping kind.

In my mind, I ran down the list of gold-chain wearing, Latin American wrestlers that I am acquainted with. Short list. And Javier standing outside the door was most definitely not on it.

I did some quick math (as is my habit in situations of this nature)

Me, 5' 8", 135 lbs <<< Latin American Wrestler I do not know

Now I'm not afraid of much, if I do say so myself (only Samara from The Ring, truth be told). But if I have to choose between opening a door to confront an unknown man four times my size and cowering in a corner in a closet until he's left, I'll pick the closet every time. Call it an acute sense of self-preservation.

So I cowered in the bedroom... kind of. I ignored the door and folded laundry. Javier stood around for what seemed like too long. He was there two minutes later. But not three minutes after that.

It was all probably completely innocent.
Javier was looking for his cousin Manuela and had entered the wrong building by mistake.
No eres Manuela. Lo siento.(You are not Manuela. I apologize.)

Or Javier was visiting his old friend Paco and they realized they had no sugar for their tea.
Quiero azúcar por favor Señor. (I would like some sugar please, Sir.)

Even so, I scrapped plans of a late night grocery run and put on some old school Drowning Pool.

Let the bodies hit the floor.
Let the bodies hit the floor.

That's right Javier. Mess with me and the bodies WILL hit the floor.
*angry snarl*