Wednesday was the wind storm of the century! Seriously! This past fall we had a storm come through that had previously been a hurricane way down in the 'ole Gulf of Mexico and got some major wind from that, but none of that matched the wind this past week. The news reported gusts of over 70 mph. That is nuts!
And our fence...our poor fence...well, it was no match for the super-wind gusts. Three sections of the privacy fence are now lost for good thanks to the gale-force gusts.
This means that when we let the babies out, we have to keep a strict eye on Mac. Mac, while he can be the best dog in the world, is also way too smart for his own good and loves to take a stroll. So instead of letting them out to do their business, we have to make sure that doing their business is all they are doing.
But that's not the real tragedy in all of this. The real tragedy is that my little brother is not home to take advantage of the fenceless-sections.
Why is this a tragedy? Let's back up the tape.
Back in May, right when he'd come back from college, Kevin went out. He tried to call his oldest sister (once) but since she needs at least two calls after midnight to rouse her from her comatose sleep, he gave up and apparently tried to let himself into the house. Now this is where the story gets interesting...
Sleep is my basically my favorite thing to do in the world. If I could become Rip Van Winkle and just fucking sleep my life away, I would! And I hate my alarm! I hate hearing the phone ring in my sleep. In college, everyone knew that unless you were Derek Jeter, I wouldn't answer the phone before noon (Yes, that begs the question how exactly would I know if Derek Jeter was calling b/c I wouldn't know his number, but hey, it sounds good).
Being awakened by a loud, deafening, glass-shaking banging sound is not high on my list, which is exactly how I woke this particular night. I jolt awake, sitting stock-straight up in my bed, grab my cell phone and see there's a missed call and somehow put two and two together and realize this banging is Kevin at the front door. I throw on my robe (and pull it tight this time) and run out to the front door.
Only...
Kevin isn't at the front door.
That's curious.
Then my mother comes running out of her room screaming: "It's an earthquake!" and acting like a general crazy person until she turns and sees a big hulking shadow in the sliding glass down that is blocking out the moonlight. Her cries of an earthquake turn to that of a criminal.
"It's just Kevin," I say and push past her to open the sliding glass door and let Kevin in.
That's when it dawns on me that Kevin has scaled a 6-foot privacy fence to bang (and I'm sure this was two-fisted) on my window. I lead him inside, making sure he is behind me with his hands on my shoulders. He's stumbling and if he passes out, I'd rather be braced for him to pass out and land across my back then to fall flat and have to pull his big ass into his room. My mom, disgusted, goes back to sleep. Kevin insisted he needs to tell his friends he's home, so I prop him against the couch and run outside to see an empty drive. Kevin appears at my side and says he dropped the key to the front door. The both of us then get down on our hands knees and look for his key, despite my protesting and telling him that I'm good and can take care of it. I find the key, get Kevin in bed, get myself to bed, then I hear a loud noise. I run back into Kevin's room. I'm sure he's fallen out of bed, but if he has, he managed to get himself back in bed before I arrived.
The morning comes and goes, Mac and I go for a 4-mile run and then it's 2:00 p.m. and I decide to wake the Brother Bear up. Besides, his car is still at a friend's house. On the way over to the friend's house, he asks if he was loud.
I just fucking laugh.
Then recant the whole story to him.
Then I find out that he had two keys to the house on him. I don't know where the fuck he got the one he dropped, but he had the one that was on his car keys the entire time. He has no clue what possessed him to go all Superman on the privacy fence and jump it, nor what propelled him to bang on my window.
This wasn't the last time that happened this summer. For some reason, my brother had a fascination with jumping the fence, calling us, and then having us let him in through the sliding glass door in the back.
And now, if he was home, he'd simply have to walk through the wind-blown opening (Although I'm sure, he'd still take pleasure in jumping the one of the sections that was still up!)
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