Holy Crap!

You wouldn't believe the adventure my beloved husband Christian and I had last night.

We had just let the staff go home for the night, and Christian and I had gone to bed early for some... for some... well, let's just say for some milk and cookies, when—CRASH!—we heard a window being shattered downstairs and someone climbing in through it.

"Christian!" I gasped. "Aren't you going to go downstairs and check?"

"Check what?" he answered calmly.

"Check to see who's breaking into our house!"

"I already know who's breaking into our house."

"Oh, really? Who?"

"A burglar," he told me. "A burglar is breaking into our house."

Well... duh!

"I wouldn't worry about it," he assured me.

"Why not?"

"Two reasons," he said, holding up two fingers. His fun ones. "One: we're rich, and two: we've got insurance."

Well, after much pushing and prodding from me, he "decided" to go down and see what the fuss was all about.

"Call 9-1-1," he ordered as he left.

"You bet," I said. "What's the number?"

Stealthily, he made his way out of the room and down the stairs. I picked up the phone.

Hmm... now what was that number again?

Again, there was a crash. And then much bumping around. Glass being broken. Furniture tossed. The TV channel being changed. Finally...

Silence.

"Christian!" I whispered loudly as I dialed for help. "Are you okay?"

There was a pause.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Christian finally replied.

My heart breathed a sigh of relief.

Well, it wasn't really my heart, but it would be vulgar of me to tell you exactly which body part made that exhalation.

"This is 9-1-1," a female voice on the phone said. "What is your emergency?"

"Osh kosh by gosh," I answered the voice. "Our house has just been broken into, and my husband confronted the burglar."

"He should have waited for the police," she told me.

Well... duh.

"That's what I told him," I replied, "but he wouldn't listen to me."

"Is he okay?" the 9-1-1 operator wanted to know.

"Yes," I said.

"What about the burglar?"

"Let me check." I put down the phone and yelled down the stairs. "Christian? What happened?"

"I scuffled with the burglar," he yelled back to me. "He had a gun, but I managed to wrestle it from him. Then he fell and hit his head against the bronze bust of Pallis that we keep for emergencies. I think he's dead."

"My husband thinks the burglar is dead," I picked the phone back up and told the operator.

"Is he sure?"

"Well, he IS a billionaire businessman. I would think he knows about these kind of things."

"Well, tell him to make sure."

"Make sure of what?"

"Tell him to make sure the burglar is dead."

"Okay," I told the voice, then yelled back down the stairs: "9-1-1 says to make sure the burglar is dead!"

"Are you sure?" Christian wanted to know.

"That's what she said!"

"Well... if SHE says so," he answered.

There was a pause. Then...

BANG!

"Okay!" Christian called out to me. "Now what?"