Halfway through my list and “Someone Like You” I heard a bustling, clanging noise coming from what seemed to be the kitchen. It sounded like someone was cooking in there, but that couldn’t be so. I live alone, which I am so frequently reminded of. I put my MacBook down, slipped off my heels, and stood up hesitantly.
As I was tiptoeing toward the door I realized that even if I did find someone or something in the kitchen I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. I wasn’t exactly what one would call “tough,” and I’d never be able to defend myself from anything. I looked around for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. There weren’t many options. With much apprehension, I grabbed one of my heels and headed down the hallway. Right outside the kitchen doorway, I was greeted with several sounds I shouldn’t have been greeted with. A radio was blaring, a skillet was sizzling, and someone was…singing? I don’t even have any food, let alone pots and pans. I left all of my fancy kitchen utensils with Alex, even though I had bought almost all of them myself. I’m going to miss my coffee maker. I had it programmed to say, “Stella, your coffee is ready,” when it had finished brewing. How could someone be cooking without pots, pans, or food? This can’t be real. I stared at the door, too scared to approach it. What if there is some cannibalistic serial killer on the other side? He’s probably just waiting for me to waltz in, my Steve Madden weapon in hand.
Okay. Okay. You can do this, Stella. Just walk in there. If all the intruder is doing is cooking and singing Beyoncé, they can’t be that much of a threat. But still. I feel like I’m in some weird horror movie. What kind of serial killer cooks before they kill you? Maybe this is some sick joke Alex is playing on me to try to cause me more pain than he already has. Wait. Nope. That’s not possible. He’s already destroyed everything. Nothing can be worse than seeing that your ex OF SEVEN YEARS is engaged and a father-to-be via Facebook. FACEBOOK! I mean really, Alex? You could have told me. You could have just… I mean, it’s only been… it’s only been a few months. He must have been cheating on me. There is no other explanation for how his relationship with her became so serious so quickly. Great. Aren’t one’s final moments supposed to be happy? Shouldn’t my entire life be flashing before my eyes right now? Here I am, about to be eaten by a creepy cannibalistic serial killer who’s cooking in my kitchen, still thinking about Alex.
As I was tiptoeing toward the door I realized that even if I did find someone or something in the kitchen I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. I wasn’t exactly what one would call “tough,” and I’d never be able to defend myself from anything. I looked around for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. There weren’t many options. With much apprehension, I grabbed one of my heels and headed down the hallway. Right outside the kitchen doorway, I was greeted with several sounds I shouldn’t have been greeted with. A radio was blaring, a skillet was sizzling, and someone was…singing? I don’t even have any food, let alone pots and pans. I left all of my fancy kitchen utensils with Alex, even though I had bought almost all of them myself. I’m going to miss my coffee maker. I had it programmed to say, “Stella, your coffee is ready,” when it had finished brewing. How could someone be cooking without pots, pans, or food? This can’t be real. I stared at the door, too scared to approach it. What if there is some cannibalistic serial killer on the other side? He’s probably just waiting for me to waltz in, my Steve Madden weapon in hand.
Okay. Okay. You can do this, Stella. Just walk in there. If all the intruder is doing is cooking and singing Beyoncé, they can’t be that much of a threat. But still. I feel like I’m in some weird horror movie. What kind of serial killer cooks before they kill you? Maybe this is some sick joke Alex is playing on me to try to cause me more pain than he already has. Wait. Nope. That’s not possible. He’s already destroyed everything. Nothing can be worse than seeing that your ex OF SEVEN YEARS is engaged and a father-to-be via Facebook. FACEBOOK! I mean really, Alex? You could have told me. You could have just… I mean, it’s only been… it’s only been a few months. He must have been cheating on me. There is no other explanation for how his relationship with her became so serious so quickly. Great. Aren’t one’s final moments supposed to be happy? Shouldn’t my entire life be flashing before my eyes right now? Here I am, about to be eaten by a creepy cannibalistic serial killer who’s cooking in my kitchen, still thinking about Alex.
Mustering up all of my courage, I pushed the door open and braced myself for what was sure to be a man in a terrifying mask, with a knife or a gun or something. The scene on the other side of the doorway was, to say the least, not at all what I was expecting. A very tall, thin black woman in glamorous golden heels was stirring the contents inside a yellow bowl. She seemed to be having some difficulty because her nails were so long, but she wasn’t giving up. Bacon and omelets were cooking in skillets on the stove, and the most delicious looking muffins were in a basket on the counter. She didn’t notice me at first, so I stayed very still, unsure of how to handle this very strange situation.
I approached her with hesitance, clearing my throat so that she would notice me. She looked up, dropped the bowl, and said, “Well, shit! You’re not supposed to be awake yet! Breakfast isn’t ready!”
“Who are you? Why are you making me breakfast? Where did all of this stuff come from?” I asked before I could help myself. I’d just now noticed that in addition to the food and kitchen utensils there were brand new stainless steel appliances. The place looked as if a design team had come overnight and completely remodeled every nook and cranny. There was even new flooring. Everything was so clean. I KNOW this kitchen was filthy just yesterday. The Terminex man is going to think I’m crazy when he comes to clean up all the dead bugs I told him about.
I approached her with hesitance, clearing my throat so that she would notice me. She looked up, dropped the bowl, and said, “Well, shit! You’re not supposed to be awake yet! Breakfast isn’t ready!”
“Who are you? Why are you making me breakfast? Where did all of this stuff come from?” I asked before I could help myself. I’d just now noticed that in addition to the food and kitchen utensils there were brand new stainless steel appliances. The place looked as if a design team had come overnight and completely remodeled every nook and cranny. There was even new flooring. Everything was so clean. I KNOW this kitchen was filthy just yesterday. The Terminex man is going to think I’m crazy when he comes to clean up all the dead bugs I told him about.
“Not a morning person, I see? If someone cooks you breakfast the polite thing to do is say thank you, Stella, not question them about everything except their mother. But this isn’t the only bad decision you’ve made lately, is it?” She said, looking at me with a very sassy expression on her face.
“I don’t know what--” I started to say, before I was interrupted.
“Don’t answer that. It was a rhetorical question. Of course you’ve been making bad decisions. Terrible ones. What is up with that list you were making, girlfriend? I mean REALLY—”
“I don’t know what--” I started to say, before I was interrupted.
“Don’t answer that. It was a rhetorical question. Of course you’ve been making bad decisions. Terrible ones. What is up with that list you were making, girlfriend? I mean REALLY—”
“What are you—” I was interrupted again.
“What are you doing with your life right now, honey? You do know that sane people don’t spend their time stalking their ex and their ex’s new lover on Facebook, right? What, what, what are you doing? I mean who—”
“LISTEN TO ME, DAMN IT!” I yelled, finally able to speak for once. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house? Why are you talking about my life? Tell me who you are right now before I call the police!!”
“For your safety I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just speak to me like that. Now, since you are just dying to know, my name is TruPaul and I’m your dream guide. I am in your house because I am your dream guide, I am talking about your life because I am your dream guide, and I am making you breakfast because my mother says cooking for people can make them think twice before committing a homicide. It’s amazing what food can do for crazy people. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to clean up this mess. I was making pancakes.” TruPaul looked very amused, and stared at me with concerned eyes.
“You’re my, my… My what? My dream guide? What the hell is a dream guide? I’m not dreaming. I just got back from work not too long ago. You’re crazy. You’re a crazy person! I want you to get out of my house! Now, get out!” I was really starting to get freaked out.
“Stella, darling, take a seat,” TruPaul said. A lusciously upholstered silk chair appeared out of nowhere. Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. She walked up to me, grabbed my arm, and pulled me to the chair. My head was spinning, and I felt sick to my stomach. Maybe I am dreaming. “Stella, what do you remember about last night?” she asked me kindly.
“Well,” I stalled. “Well, I remember coming home and getting on Facebook. I remember… I, I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything at all. Why are you asking me this?”
“Last night while you were Facebook-stalking Alex and Penelope, you heard loud noises down the hall and went to investigate. Yes, it's haunted. This erm, house, is the hopping place for ghosts and their friends. Anyway, you heard the noises, tripped, and smacked your head on the staircase. You completely blacked out when you fell, and right now this is all happening inside your head. When you wake up you really should see a doctor to be sure you don’t have a concussion. But yes, you’re dreaming, sweetie. How do you think this place got oh-so-fabulous all of the sudden?” He said, staring at me. He must be afraid I’m going to attack him with the heel I’m clutching so tightly.
Surprisingly, everything made sense to me now. The crucifix had magically disappeared earlier. My heel was broken. Even my dream was trying to tell me I was dreaming, but I guess I didn’t want to listen to it.
“Well,” I stalled. “Well, I remember coming home and getting on Facebook. I remember… I, I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything at all. Why are you asking me this?”
“Last night while you were Facebook-stalking Alex and Penelope, you heard loud noises down the hall and went to investigate. Yes, it's haunted. This erm, house, is the hopping place for ghosts and their friends. Anyway, you heard the noises, tripped, and smacked your head on the staircase. You completely blacked out when you fell, and right now this is all happening inside your head. When you wake up you really should see a doctor to be sure you don’t have a concussion. But yes, you’re dreaming, sweetie. How do you think this place got oh-so-fabulous all of the sudden?” He said, staring at me. He must be afraid I’m going to attack him with the heel I’m clutching so tightly.
Surprisingly, everything made sense to me now. The crucifix had magically disappeared earlier. My heel was broken. Even my dream was trying to tell me I was dreaming, but I guess I didn’t want to listen to it.
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