Stalkers will be shot on sight. Or possibly eaten by my dog.

The title started out as a statement that read:

Stalkers will be shot on sight. Or at least bitch slapped into a coma.

My ability to make people's eyes bleed at the drop of a hat has always been a bit of a problem. My argumentative nature, the fact that I have to work hard to remember to wrap a towel around a two by four or maybe even pound down the nails or just put the damn thing down already has almost always been an issue.

My first husband said I ought to have been a litigating attorney because nobody, but nobody was ever going to have the balls to look me in the eye and argue with my facts when I sunk my teeth into something. Ever. I'm that clear when I'm clear.

It's always been hard on relationships and I've spent the last 25 years working really hard on listening, negotiating and trying to work my way to some sort of level ground which always worked right up until it didn't but I'm getting off point.

My point is when I'm clear that I'm right it's all right there and you're not going to win this one. Under any circumstances, because I don't have a relationship to save. I don't have anything to lose except my case and I'll be damned if I'm going to lose it. I think the clue is knowing when to shut up and not coming unhinged.

So the email was composed yesterday evening. Carefully. I needed to be clear up front that it was from both parents but I was doing the writing. I needed to be clear that it wasn't a conversation; it was a one way message. I needed to be clear that this sort of confrontation made me uncomfortable (translate that to, now I'm pissed off that I have to do this but here it comes anyway, buster).

And then the shit storm hit the proverbial fan. One point after another starting with the egregious breach of social contract which was asking for the email address of an eleven year old without creating agreement with a parent first and then bulleting out a long list of unacceptable bad behavior which ended with his hands slammed in the door.

The email was sent to my friend who's response was that it was better his delusion be nipped in the bud and his feelings hurt now than to have him wind up in jail or worse, in the stomach of a 200 pound St. Bernard.

I don't know about that. His response was unaccountable and unapologetic but I wouldn't expect anything different. It wasn't argumentative either; he indicated that I was perfectly clear.

I imagine a baseball bat making contact with his itty bitty skull (he's a diminutive man). On the other hand it would probably be better to let the dog do his job.

At dinner I told the story about the trespassing real estate agent at the Indian Lake rental last summer. I don't recall how it came up; I must just have been telling Simon stories. Or something. Maybe at some level I already knew.

Here's an excerpt. I suppose I picked up the two by four without even thinking.

And then we went home. We found Cletus on the small sofa in the front room. She didn't look very happy. The front door was unlocked. I left it that way. The lights in the house were on. I left them on. The front room had games and other things scattered about, left that way. All signs of life in the house. A man. A man. Alone. A man walked into the house, through this front room, into the living room and called out, hello? Hello? Is there anyone at home?

Cletus came to the balcony of the loft in her t-shirt and boxers and stared down at him and said, yes, I'm here. He introduced himself. Said he'd like to show the place and could he come in. She said she was sick and her mother was out. Maybe later he said hopefully. She said we were leaving on Friday. She told me there were two women and two children walking around outside and then they all left.

I turned on my heel, got in the car, slammed the door, screamed backwards out of the driveway (I DID look both ways) and had topped 85 by the time I righted myself properly on the main road. I made a hard left into the realtor's office leaving rubber in the road and digging through about eight inches of gravel straight down into hard pack black dirt. I hit the brakes hard enough I ought to have left a bruise from the seat belt.

And then I sat there for a minute listening to the engine tick.

I got out of the car and walked to the side entrance, opened the door and entered what might have been a main room; it was hard to tell. I called out, hello? hello? Is there anyone here? A woman in shorts and a sleeveless blouse came from the other room and asked how she could help me. I told her I was the tenant and gave the address at the house a man just attempted to show and very quietly began to explain what had just happened to my daughter. She stopped me mid sentence and explained they had no idea it was rented. There was no phone in the house (truth).There was no car in the driveway, 'they' didn't tell them it was rented, it hadn't been rented all summer (I let her have all this). I explained in my very quiet voice that a strange man walked into an unlocked house, stood in the middle of the unlocked house and scared the living shit out of my had been sleeping half naked daughter.

There was a moment of stunned silence while she gathered herself together and explained earnestly that she was there with the man and another woman and there were children present and there was no man alone with my daughter.

I looked at her.

She asked tentatively if they might be able to show the house (what is WRONG with these people?! Don't answer that).

I looked at her.

I told her that if I had any idea we'd be dealing with real estate agents we would never have rented the house. I told her I had a houseful of very sick people and mentioned something about strep at which point she backed off about eight feet. I told her finally, lastly and very quietly...

that I was very, very, very glad for the man's sake that I'd taken the 200 lb St. Bernard with me and that in the future should I leave any of my children behind that the dog would be staying.

She got very quiet and asked where the dog was now. I said, 'the dog is at the house with the children, is the man very likely to swing back again?' She said, 'he might, but maybe if he doesn't see a car he'll keep going, we don't have any cell service, I can't call him.' I said, 'for his sake, I hope so. We'll be leaving on Friday morning.'

We didn't hear from the agents again but God Damn, people are stupid. And I'll be damned if I'm going to tolerate one cotton picking second of it.

Comments

[Cielo]

Hubby likes baseball bats and the thought of the sound they would make when making contact with a skull. Just sayin '

[shadowmoss]

Do you think he is deluded enough to go to the 'authorities' about the 'terribly unhappy' young girl? Just a thought. I put nothing past those who have no boundaries. Or, perhaps he knows the boundary and knows now you saw him try to cross it. No kids here, and no other words. Just a probably unnecessary thought about the above.

[Alecto]

Ceilo. Me too.

Shadow - He doesn't have grounds and he'd sure be exposing himself. If he didn't live all the way across the country his email correspondence would already have become public. Or, more public. And he'd have a restraining order slapped on his ass so hard his head would spin right off his neck. I don't think he's looking to save, he likes to analyze, pick apart, insinuate and control. He does this with children because he can't do it with adults.

[Cielo]

Eeew, did you REALLY have to use the phrase "exposing himself"????

[Alecto]

kinda feels that way, doesn't it?

[jules]

Wow! just wow.