I've long been a subscriber to the theory that bad things come in threes, and I'm now convinced that strange happenings must follow the same eerie edict after three occurrences in three weeks...
So I'm bee-bopping along as I do on most days, happily chatting away to bestie N on the phone while haphazardly perusing the mail, when I come to an incredibly boring white envelope with my name and addy typed on the front, metered postage and no return info. Figuring it was yet another insurance solicitation or random "why you should list your house with me" reason #743 from my old realtor (who was quite fab), I thoughtlessly tore into it. Upon checking the contents, I am so seized with fear that I nearly drop the phone. Inside of this inconspicuously suspicious envelope is a zip lock baggie of HAIR. I. Kid. You. Not. While double checking the doors are all locked and setting my house alarm to instant, I frantically explain what just went down to bestie N and we conclude that someone is stalking me in an awfully eerie and terribly mean manner. We hurriedly say our goodbyes and I run upstairs to check on the littles on this rare afternoon when they are both peacefully slumbering. I ring Honey to tell him the distressing news, but don't get him via any of his one zillion means of contact (why is that always the case when I direly do need him?). So as I'm pondering which emergency number one should call in this predicament (911? Poison Control in case it's laced with anthrax? The neighborhood station?) and turning over the baggie of hair, blonde, kind of crimpy, very looooong hair, I decide that sister will know what to do. As I am explaining the situation at hand, she cuts me off and just starts gushing apologies. Apparently Piper (my one and only niece, albeit of the canine variety) lost some of her very fine tail-feather fur (as we affectionately refer to it), and sister just knew I'd want to see it. Flash forward a week or two and she is pre-cleaning for the housekeeper when she comes across the clump 'o hair and asks her husband to mail it to me since she isn't sure when she'll next see me in person. Well, my sister's mister promptly bagged the hair and handed it over to his secretary to mail. Being the uber professional and efficient lady that she is, she smartly typed my address, ran it through the meter and sent it on it's merry way to me. Of course, sister had no idea that her mister would send it off without a note and in such a creepy manner, and to compound the matter, it slipped her mind to give me a heads up on the puppy parcel. Y'all sure know how to scare the wits out of a poor unsuspecting gal.
I'm scooting in from running errands with the littles just about a week after the malicious mail incident. As I screech around the corner into my drive I literally slam on the breaks. Stuff is flying all over my car. A scary, naked, big baby-esque (re: Toy Story 3) doll is perched smack dab on top of my box. Now, I loved dolls back in the day, but I must admit I find the wide eyed, life like version a little creepy in my older age. (Note to self: Must get rid of the box of Cabbage Patch my parents delivered on their last visit.) And this one not only appeared to be staring right through me, but was ominously reaching for me. UGH. So I once again race into the house, triple lock the door and set the alarm to instant. Now Honey, who wasn't the recipient of scary hair mail the week prior, thought I was overreacting a bit and insisted that some poor little girl likely lost dolly on a neighborhood walk and some kind Samaritan then placed found dolly on our box to get her out of the street. Okay, okay, I can buy that. But I still insisted that he march big baby across the street to the other corner's fire hydrant. Later that night, Reese's doppleganger A picks me up for dinner and drinks and, after happening to catch big baby's eye on the way around the corner, I put the whole incident out of my mind. Whew! So the next morning I jet out with the littles, back out of the end of my drive and can hardly believe my eyes. That darned scary big baby is BACK. Back on top of my box. Staring right through me and ominously reaching for me. At this point I've had it. I throw the Jeep in drive while leaving Honey a message at work to not even come in the house until big baby has been safely deposited into the outside trash can. He obligingly tossed the doll and I'm happy to report that it never returned. Once again, I put the incident out of my mind. Well, come to find out, Reese's doppleganger A stealthily retrieved big baby from the fire hydrant after I told her my tale and put it back on my box to creep me out. Mission accomplished.
The night of our return trip from Savannah, I'm sitting in bed with Honey recounting tales from our trip and excitedly showing off my new purches when I decide he simply cannot go to bed until he sees the pic of my new foo lamp (that sister was bringing home for me.) As I'm swiping through the pics on my iPhone, I am suddenly just stunned and speechless. There are pictures of three children that I do not know and have never seen in my life. According to the time stamp on the pictures, they were taken at 8:30p.m. on a Tuesday night. A time when I was home with my parents and John and Cookie would have been sleeping. I'm just stumped as to who these kids are and how their pictures got on my iPhone camera roll. And while the two aforementioned strange happenings were eventually sorted out, this one still has me perplexed.