Awkward Almost Flashings And Other Worldly Monster Knockers

I’m a vampire. Not in the “kiss me Edward, you delicious sparkly creature” sense but in the my skin in sunlight feels like how bacon sounds when it’s cooking sense. The lore of vampires and werewolves was started by a blood condition called porphyria. The bad kinds of porphyria make people blister when they’re exposed to light. After the blisters heal, hair grows out of them. Delightful right?

I have the kind of porphyria that just causes pain upon exposure to light and any sunburns result in permanent scarring. Understandably people with porphyria avoid the sun and consequently tend to have fair complexions. Thus how the whole vampire phenomena was started.

A cotton t-shirt only has a sun protective factor of ten. This fact is irrelevant for non-vampires but the summer that I worked outside,  this meant that every morning I would have to cover my entire top half in 110 SPF sunscreen before getting dressed. This process meant that I was so greased up that the whole world became a slip and slide until I had my t-shirt on.

That same summer that I began working outside, my boobs grew, like really grew. Picture the moment when the Grinch decided to save Christmas and his heart busted out of the device that was measuring it. That’s totally what happened to me with bras that year. The combination of a big cup size and a tiny ribcage made it difficult to find a sports bra. Yet my mother had searched and searched and finally procured me a size 30D brassiere. It was exactly the right fit but it was super tight which made it tricky to get on.

On this morning my mother had left early for work so it was just my father and I in the house. I went through my morning routine of slathering my entire body in sunscreen then reached for my bra. That was when everything went terribly wrong. Somehow while pulling it over my head, the elastic bottom got coated in sun cream and so rather than sliding down over my head and arms,  the bra rolled up onto itself like one of those pull blinds, forming a ring around my arms,  pinning them to my head.  So there I was standing there with my hands straight up like I was caught in a nudist stick up without the gun.

The elastic was tight to begin with, but when it was rolled up on itself, it became like steel;  impossible to bend or move. “Help” I cried,  waving my arms above the elbow in an attempt to escape. My father hearing my cries dashed from the other room. Hearing his footsteps I added “I’m stuck in my bra” at those words,  the doorknob which had been about to open, reverted back to its closed position.

My father is helpful but above all he is conservative. That meant that although he would coach me from behind the door, entering to unpin my arms from my head was not an option. “Is Mom home?” I asked despite knowing the answer. “No, she left already” my father replied. “Are you still stuck?” he asked. Turning this way and that in my undergarment prison, I sighed “yes”.

After some Houdini like movements and an inordinated amount of grunting, I managed to extract one arm. My Dad was relieved when I finally escaped. Getting flashed by loved ones has never been high on his list of fun experiences. I was much more careful the rest of the summer, applying sunscreen to my arms only after I was wearing the necessary undergarments.

 

Robots, Fairies and Cold Blooded Murder – The Countdown Continues

 

I’ve been woken up the past couple of nights at three am, by the man upstairs who is clearly speaking to people in another country where it is a reasonable hour. At first, I was myself, but as the night progressed, I became a blood thirsty killer.

3:04 AM

I am lying in bed with my eyes open listening to what can only be the sounds of a man describing how he singlehandedly saved the world. Or at least that’s what I assume he was talking about, after all, who could be excited about anything less than being an international hero at three am?

3: 22 AM

The man is still talking, loudly and at various volumes so I cannot fall back asleep. I sleepily remind myself that I feel homesick here too and spend an inordinate amount of time on the phone. The difference is that my family is in relatively the same time zone.

3:37 AM

Now he’s talking about cooking up a feast for three million people and describing all of the recipes he will use. Actually that’s just a guess, because what else could have taken him this long to communicate? I picture quietly tiptoeing upstairs, knocking on my neighbour’s door, looking pathetic and small like a sad twelve year old and saying “I can’t sleep when you are on the phone.”

3:49 AM

It’s becoming clear that a man who outlines the exact method that he uses to clean his bathroom at three am needs more than the pathetic image of a woman who looks like a child knocking on his door asking him to stop, in the middle of the night. I picture writing an amusing note to him.

Dear Sir,

If I was a fairy, I’d sprinkle you with magic so you’d sleep through the night without hearing your phone.

If I was a vampire, I’d bite you, not enough to kill you, just enough to make you anemic so you’d be too tired to talk at three am.

If I was a unicorn, I’d pin you with my benevolent hoof and communicate through unicorn mind powers the social mores of society- HINT: we sleep at night.

If I was a robot, I’d put you in a cage without your phone because robots are soulless, but I’d put a bed in there because I’d be a nice robot.

I think we can agree empathy isn't this over-sized toaster's strong point either.  (Photo by Paul Gilham/Getty Images)

If I was a mermaid, I’d slap you with my giant fish tail to get my message across- you’re being rude.

If I was a werewolf, I’d rip my couch apart and eat it, werewolves are unpredictable.

Please go to bed.

Sincerely,

The Great Unwashed

4:07 AM

With no end to my neighbour’s jibber jabber about his belly button lint in sight, I move to the couch and quickly discover that our new couch is not comfortable for sleeping on.

4:30 AM

I crawl back into bed, the man upstairs is talking about all of his wonderful qualities; his ability to speak for three minutes without taking a breath, how he is so charismatic that curiously no one wants to hang out with him. He has others but I stopped listening because I had a quest.

“Tex” I said shaking my boyfriend’s shoulder gently, “the gun cabinet is locked; I need the combination.”

“Shhherfenismah” Tex replied before rolling over. My visions of appearing at the man’s door like a tiny pyjama clad Annie Oakley were crushed.

This looks like a woman who always had a good night's sleep. (Photo Credit : en.wikipedia.org)

4:41 AM

I rearrange all of the furniture in the second bedroom so the futon will fold out and switch out the flimsy curtains with the blackout curtains in the living room and finally fall asleep.

6:30 AM

Tex is awoken by my alarm next to the bed because I am not there and then is shocked because my first words to him are, “I want to make the man upstairs special cement boots then take him swimming.”

Apparently I am never getting the code to the gun cabinet, Tex is also looking into anger management classes or calming yoga classes for me, he can’t decide which will better prevent cold blooded murder.