scary little hand

Terrifying, I know.

OMG is right.

How do you think I feel about it?

Because see, it’s right outside my door. In my parents’ basement. Because, although I am not living in a van down by the river, thank God, I am living in my parents’ basement.

Which is actually very nice.

Minus the scary little hand.

Actually, there are two of them. My mom puts them in each of the dogs’ crates at night. I guess it’s a real treat.

But when you’re innocently doing your laundry at one in the morning and you happen to glance down and see a severed hand right by your foot–albeit, behind bars, but still–it’s a bit disturbing.

Okay, a lot disturbing.

So disturbing that I had to snap that picture and text it to my brother Jason out in California. Which he then shared with Darby, my sister-in-law. To which she asked, Why are mom and pop teaching the dogs to chew hands?

Good question, Darby.

And then when I told my friend about it, he had yet another take. He seemed to think that they are alien hands and that they are what’s left of an alien attack. The thought is intriguing but even more frightful, I think.

Because that would mean that there is now an alien where the dogs sleep at night. And where the dogs sleep at night is the basement and remember? I also sleep in the basement. And now he is not just your every day alien, he’s an angry alien because he has no hands. Perfect.

But at least he has no hands.

Meaning, at least if he attacks again I will be up against an alien with stumps instead of hands and since I have two perfectly good hands, that totally gives me the advantage.

Plus, I doubt the alien knows ballet.

I could so take him.

But still, I hope it doesn’t come down to that.

Fingers crossed.