Get comfy--it's a long one.

The oh-so-rare post by Gabe:

Usually when people say that something is the funniest thing ever, it's understood that there's a bit of hyperbole there. But last night might actually qualify as the real deal, at least to me and Meg.

About 1:00 in the morning I'm roused from my sleep by the concurrent noises of our door buzzer and Meg's asking if I hear it. Immediately I'm wide awake, listening as the buzzer continues to sound for several seconds. Curious and a confused more than anything at this point, we both get out of bed and creep into the family room, where a window overlooks the front door below. We leave the light switched off, and Meg opens the blinds a crack, just enough to see if someone is standing outside the house. She begins whispering, over and over, "My heart is pounding. My heart is beating so fast." Fright has joined the confusion and curiosity of a few seconds before. But, not seeing anybody, we shrug and head back into the kitchen, the room by which access is gained to our apartment. Just as we're passing the door, though, we hear something outside in the hall, and we freeze.

I'll admit that confusion and curiosity are completely replaced at this point. We're scared now—there is somebody in our hallway, some squinty-eyed, shuffling madman who rang our buzzer and then broke into the house. At least that's what we're thinking. What other possible explanation is there? There's not one, so, I say again, when we hear the noise in the hall, we both let fright come into the picture.

But Meg's fright is on a whole different level than mine. Mine is mixed with a little bit of excitement. For those who know me, I have a fantasy where someone tries to mug me and I defend myself with extreme prejudice. This is almost the same thing: someone breaks into our house and I'm going to remove him...with extreme prejudice. I'm already envisioning unleashing my inner ninja on the intruder. I approach the door and put my ear to it.

Meg, on the other hand, starts hopping around the kitchen, alternately shaking her hands and wringing them, chanting a mantra of "I’m scared, I’m scared, I'm scared." If she's ever been hysterical, this is it. Trying to keep my cool, I tell her I'm going to go out in the hall, and this sends her to an even higher level. I tell her to get in the bedroom and turn off the light, and, after some weak protests, she does. But she does have the presence of mind to reach in the top drawer of our dresser and grab my ever-trusty collapsible baton (pictured below for those who aren't sure what that is).

I look at her and think, "That's my girl," as I walk over to arm myself. I then tiptoe back to the door. Before I open it, Meg dashes to our kitchen hutch and grabs the biggest knife we have, a brand new, gleaming, razor-sharp Henckel slicer and dicer (a recent Christmas present—thanks, Gary and Pat!) and darts back into the bedroom, where she picks up her cell phone. Seeing her secured away, I extend the baton, take a breath, and open the door.

The hallway light is on when I step out, and it hits me then how strange this situation is. First of all, why would a burglar choose to ring the buzzer first? Secondly, wouldn't we have heard the front door opening and closing if someone had indeed broken in? I allow myself to calm down a bit, and I poke my head back into our apartment. Meg is standing in the bedroom doorway and brandishing her knife in one hand while holding her phone to her head with the other, talking a mile-a-minute. I quickly discern that she's talking to our landlord, and I hear her say something along the lines of, "Somebody was ringing our buzzer and Gabe just went out into the hallway and I'm in the bedroom and I have a knife and I'm really scared!"

I step back into the hallway and look to the bottom of the stairs, where a figure is now standing looking back up at me. Rather than Hannibal Lecter I see my sweet, 80-something-year-old landlady holding a plastic hanger. I have to tell you here that I'm shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans, and I'm still brandishing my fully-extended baton. If anybody is scared at this point, it's her.

She starts talking about how she heard a noise and it scared her so she rang our buzzer to see if it was coming from our apartment. Meg, who's still on the phone with our landlord, the landlady's son, hears us and joins me at the top of the stairs. She's calming down and, as she gets bits and pieces of what's being said, she relays the conversation to our landlord. Finally, we come to the conclusion that our toilet had been running and the sound of it frightened our landlady, prompting her to ring our buzzer. When everybody has stopped freaking out enough to make our goodbyes and goodnights in a civil manner, Meg and I step into the apartment and shut the door…and promptly burst into uncontrolled fits of hysterical laughter. We eventually make our way back to the bed, where we continue to laugh and laugh and laugh. Meg is shivering violently, shaking as if our bed has been replaced by a mechanical bull, but she's laughing nonetheless.

Alas, I didn't get my chance to live out my fantasy, but I think that's for the better. We still feel completely safe in our neighborhood, and we now realize how utterly terrifying 80-year-old women can be. From now on I think I'll jiggle the toilet handle to make sure everything's in working order before we go to bed, and I might starting sleeping with my baton under my pillow, just in case the sweet woman downstairs decides to ring our buzzer again at 1:00 in the morning.

Funniest thing ever? For Meg and me, I think yes.