Blasting from the Boonies

My sister and I are walking around in someone's front yard. I am in my giant mustard-colored sweatshirt with giant naked African people dancing on it that says, "JAMBO" that is also the kind of length that makes it look like I have no pants on; my sister is in pajama pants made of pink fuzz with giant cats all over them. Have you ever been rained on until your hair is soaked, and to dry it you drive around for a long time with the windows down, and by the time you step out of the car you have a Foxy Cleopatra fro? Well that is just what had happened before we decided to walk around in someone's front yard.

This wasn't by choice, by the way. I'm not one of those who posts up in someone's tree with binoculars and a sock waiting for them to conveniently undress right in front of their open window; I'm just somebody who obeys their father.

"Go to that party you were at last night and see if your sister's cell phone is there."

And so that is just what we were doing.

Awkwardly.

In giant pajamas and Einstein 'do's.

So we're walking through this front yard, which is quite big, with a driveway to the left.

(That's all I'm going to elaborate as far as scenery goes; it's a pet peeve of mine when people spend 15 minutes trying to explain where exactly they were before they even begin the story.

"You know where that restaurant is on that street with the little sign?"

"No."

"Well okay, you know that school on that avenue where people walk around?"

"No."

"Hmmm...okay how about that road with the dead end sign where there's a dead end?"

"Sure."
A.k.a. just tell the damn story already.

"Okay well that's where we were. Anyway that's not important. So this guy---"

Yeah. I hate when people do that.)

So literally 34 seconds after we begin our trespassing, a car pulls out of that same driveway to the left. Of course this would happen. Of all the cars. Of all the driveways. Of all the times. Of all the sweatshirts.

"That car is coming from this house!"

"What should we do?"

"Just act like we're on a walk!"

"What?"

"Just act like we're taking a walk!"

"Natasha, no one goes on walks through people's front yards."

"Then let's walk over there!"

So we walk out of the yard as this car is driving right past us, and see that the road ends and there is a graveyard, which we start walking next to. I start whistling because I've seen it done in movies, and my sister keeps telling me we look morbid and why do I have naked black women on my shirt.

"Hey, are you looking for something?"

"Uhhh...yeah...sorry."
Sorry this is so incredibly awkward.

"We're looking for my phone. I lost it here last night."

"Is it black?"
Like the women on my sweatshirt? Please don't notice them.

"YES!"

"Yeah, I found it in the yard. I'm leaving now but you can just go on in and get it. It's in the kitchen."

"Thank you!"

Relieved, we stroll on up to the front door. Remembering that he said, "Just go on in," I start trying to open the door. It won't budge. So I try turning the knob several times. It's locked. Frustrated, I grab the knob with two hands and start shaking it as hard as I can yelling, "AAAAHHHHH!" trying to amuse my sister. That's when someone opened the door from the other side.

"Can I help you?"
She was looking at me as if I were Norman Bates. Though with my hair looking the way it did I'm sure I could have been mistaken for his mother.

"Yeah, uhhhh, sorry. HI! I'm Natasha."

"Are you looking for something?"

"Yes, yes. YES, I AM. A phone. Cell phone. My sister left it here. Uhhh sorry about trying to open your door he told me to just come on in so I figured the door was jammed or something..."
Yeah, sorry I just started yelling like an ape right outside of your house, then shaking your door violently trying to break in.

"Oh, it's fine, honey."
Older folk always say that when they're freaked the fuck out. I've never heard an adult say, "Man I'm freakin out!" they just say something like, "Hmmm, we'll work this out." That's how I knew she thought I was Jennifer Beals in a leotard and leg warmers.

"Oh, that's the phone!"

"There you go."

"Thank you!"

"Uh-huh."

"Sorry again about the whole breaking into your house thing...ha...ha..."

"See you later, honey."

GOD HOW DO I MAKE EVERYTHING SO AWKWARD. As soon as we get outside, we start talking about how creepy the area the house is in, this country-back-of-the-woods-isolated-farm-land.

"Man this is like a creepy country-back-of-the-woods-isolated-farm-land."

"For real."

And as soon as we say this, no joke, CIRCUS MUSIC starts playing from who the fuck knows where. CIRCUS MUSIC IS BLASTING THROUGH THE BOONIES.

"Is that circus music...?"

"LET'S GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!"

So we start running towards the car, I'm talking full out sprint here, to my Volvo which we parked in someone else's driveway "to be smooth," but as we advance to that same driveway we see a car waiting beside it to pull into THAT driveway. I'm assuming this person actually owned the house in which the driveway we had parked our car in led to, unlike us, which brings me back to my previous point of HOW DO I MAKE EVERYTHING SO AWKWARD. We don't look at them because it's already uncomfortable enough; we just get in the car; I keep my head down which made it very difficult to drive, as you can imagine, and left. Laughing. And screaming.