True Story.

It was a dark and stormy night. Seriously. Dark. And. Stormy. I had spent a half hour earlier in the day in the basement due to the imminent threat of tornadoes. But that had passed and I was hanging out on the couch perusing the Internet while debating whether I should have leftover lasagna for dinner even though I had also had leftover lasagna for lunch. Drew was out acting as NFL commissioner for his fantasy league.

Ding, ding, ding.

That's the alarm system telling me that one of the three doors in the house has opened. I can see two of the doors from where I'm sitting and neither of those are opened. That means it is the third door in the basement. Great, someone is coming in to rob or kill me. So, now I'm freaking out and my first instinct is to shut off the lights. Like that would make them think I was not at home anymore. I then go push the little door lock on the door knob because that will keep an intruder out as long as they aren't traveling with a bobby pin or have the strength to push open a basically hollow door. I start to pace.

The silence from the basement is causing me to panic. One would think the lack of sounds would be comforting but it's not. Wow, I think, I really wish I had a baseball bat right about now. Instead I grab the largest knife out of my knife block and head to the basement door, Caper in tow. I swing the door open and brandish my 7-inch knife, ready to scare the bejesus out of whoever is there.

No one attacks me. In fact, no one is on the stairs. I switch on the light and descend down.

Holy S***.

The basement is frickin' flooded. Again. There is water everywhere. EVERYWHERE.
And then I freak out. And by freak out I mean sobbing and practically hyperventilating while trying to slosh my way through all the water in an attempt to get things off the ground.

Oh, the joys of home ownership.