Someone broke into my apartment today.
How do I know? Because my Womba told me.
What’s a Womba?
Sheesh – so many questions. Aren’t you worried if I’m okay?
I’m fine, thanks for the concern. And Womba is the name of my wombat. Here he is – isn’t he adorable? He’s such a stumpy little nugget. He was actually Husband’s childhood wombat, and I adopted him in January 2012 when I was going through my pre and post wedding freak-out.
Around the time of my wedding, I was going through major panic attacks, questioning if I was actually ready to get married. During this time, to make everyone else’s life as stressful as mine (when I say everyone, I mean Husband) I was making these ridiculous demands and generally being an annoying bitch. Maybe subconsciously, I was hoping Husband would realize that he doesn’t want to marry a crazy bitch? Well, that plan was an epic fail.
One of these crazy demands involved me wanting a wombat. I had just returned from attending my good friend AK’s wedding in Sydney in December 2011 and on my flight back to New York, I saw this little guy, fell in love and immediately decided that I would like a wombat as a pet. So, I started incessantly dropping hints to Husband by incorporating the word wombat into general everyday conversation:
Husb: How was your day babe?
Me: Oh, not so bad. I went to the gym, got my nails done, researched wombat breeders and did some grocery shopping.
Husb: What did you say?
Me: What? I said I went grocery shopping. Trader Joes was seriously busy!
Husb: Hmm…
After 5 years, Husband is used to my random idiocy so he generally just tunes it out. Once I realized that this subtle tactic was getting me nowhere, I decided to up the intensity. It basically got to the point where every time he rang the doorbell, I asked “Who is it? Is it a wombat? If not, then fuck off.”
Husband got tired of waiting at the front door like a stalker and sat me down one day and said “If you really want a wombat, I’ve got one. You’ll get it in January.” I was all like WHAT? You’ve had a wombat this whole time and only NOW you’re telling me?! We negotiated a peace treaty where I stopped talking about wombats and he’ll deliver the goods in January.
January rolls around and in the midst of all my wedding craziness, I completely forgot all about my new pet. The night of my wedding, Husband returns from visiting his parents with an oddly shaped bag – out pops this little dude! It turns out that Husband had him while he was growing up, and his parents just happen to have kept him around. I was stoked!
So – that is the story of how I got my wombat. Oh, and I called him Womba because that’s how creative I am with names. At least it’s a tad more original than what I named my Panda, but that’s a whole other story. (His name is Panda)
Anywho, back to my break-in ordeal.
So, I returned home from an afternoon of Trophy Wife maintenance. While I was relaxing on my couch, I notice that Womba had moved. Now, Womba generally resides beside my TV, looking out at me with all his adorableness, but today, Womba wasn’t looking at me at all – he was looking out the window.
First I was like – hmm, did I do something to offend him? Are we having a fight and I didn’t know about it? Did I accidentally disturb his wombat burrow while I was on a cleaning/drinking mission? That doesn’t sound like me at all! In fact, I fully appreciate Womba’s choice of lifestyle, so much so that in respect of their nocturnal nature, I would turn the volume down on the TV during the day, and even shush Husband when he was talking too loud during Womba’s sleeping hours of 9-5pm.
Then I look around my apartment and notice that the windows I had left opened are now shut, and I freak out a little…I take a closer look at the windows and see that someone had left a muddy boot print on my window sill? First I was pissed because you KNOW I clean on Mondays and it really sucks that I have to re-clean again. Then I realize, crap – I have a whole load of expensive shit in my apartment, maybe I should check to see that they’re still here?
So – this is my exact route I took around my apartment:
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Obviously all my most important possessions are present, so I sit back down and rack my brain to think why someone would have broken into my apartment, moved my Wombat, and closed my windows?
I get the genius thought to call Husband, thinking he might have forgotten to pack something for his afternoon flight, and came home in the afternoon to grab it. This conversation follows:
Husb: Hello?
Me: Did you move Womba?
Husb: What?
Me: Did you come home during the day and move Womba?
Husb: Julie, WHAT are you talking about?
Me: Hm…I guess that’s a no then. I think someone broke into our apartment.
Husb: WHAT?! Is everything still there?
Me: Yeah – they just came in to move Womba and close some windows.
Husb: Um – are you sure everything is still there?
Me: Yes – I checked my jewelry, my handbags, my shoes and the fridge.
Husb: That’s ALL you checked?
Me: Yeah – I didn’t think they’d want your shit. Actually, wait a minute…I think someone came in to check the carbon monoxide and fire alarm. Yeeeaaaaahhhh…I remember they said that they were going to do that today. And they must have checked the windows for fire escape stuff. Oh don’t worry – that MUST be it!
Husb: Are you sure?
Me: Totes. There is a sign literally right in front of our elevators saying that they’ll be doing that. False alarm!
Husb: (sigh) BYE.
So – that is how my Womba saved my life.
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