[Reader’s Tip: Exhibit C is the best Exhibit.]
Exhibit A: The other day, while walking down the sidewalk, you told me that you only wanted to hold my hand while we were crossing streets. When I dropped your hand after we crossed the next street, you said “thank you for listening to my conscience, dad.”
Exhibit B: Later that night, I was going for a glass of water before bed, having just finished reading “The Call of Cthulhu.” As my foot hit the squeaky spot in the darkened hall outside your room, you let out one, fully unrestrained “yeargh!” It wasn’t a scared sound. It sounded like adrenaline, and it got my heart racing. Nothing followed.
So I’m settling back into bed after having some water and I think maybe I hear the sounds of little feet hitting the floor. The following internal colloquy ensues:
Me: Let’s listen for the sound of further footfalls, or maybe of her door opening. Parenting may be required.
Me: That yell thing was kind of spooky, right?
Me: Shhh. Nothing. All is well, save only that I am awake — a circumstance I do aspire to most swiftly remedy.
Me: Well as long as nothing creepy is going on. Maybe we should listen some more.
Me: Were she awake in a darkened and silent house, she would either be crying at whatever had woken her, or proclaiming her need to visit a restroom. Either way, we would certainly hear her coming.
Me: Not if she has a knife and is trying to retain the strategic advantage of surprise!
Ok, maybe that’s evidence that I’m weird.