It’s not every day that the police come knocking on your front door at 7 am on a Saturday morning.
Well, that’s what happened.
Michael and I had got to sleep a little late Friday night. Not because we were out partying, but because we were recovering from having my family in town. Doing laundry, watching basketball–the norm.
We heard a knock at our door that was SO loud it woke us both up. We turned to each other, half dazed and kinda like, “Who is it?” When I looked at the clock, I was even more confused. Michael’s first thought was “Is it the Missionaries?” (They sometimes knock on our door and ask us for favors.)
Nope, it was the Police.
I figured answering the door is a man’s job, so I quietly asked Michael to get the door. As he was peeking out the window to see who it is, there was another knock, or should I say BANG. Startled, Michael opened the door…in his underwear.
They said they were looking for someone who had overdosed and asked if we knew the girl. Michael, confused, said “Yeah we do know her…”
He got two names mixed up, so from the bedroom I corrected him. Such a funny scenario. Two policemen talking to my husband in our living room while he is standing there in his underwear and I am shouting out things from bed.
Michael talked with them a little longer, while they apologized for waking us up. Oh, and they asked Michael if he wanted to put some shorts on….haha…
I hope they found the girl.
Can you imagine being a policeman? What a crazy job. I felt like I should have been on one of those TV shows that follow cops around. Except we weren’t drunk, and we didn’t beat up the police officer.
Still a cool story.