A Night at the Ballet—and a Burglar Alarm

Our friends Marc and Lynn, along with their sons, Malcome and Miles, invited Dorothy and me to see Luna Mexicana at the Paramount Theatre.

I didn't really know what it was, but I agreed to go because I like them and wanted to see them.

The Paramount, all lit up, excited me even though I didn't know what I'd signed up for. While we waited out front to meet them, my anticipation grew as I watched people gather and the line get longer.

Once they arrived and I put the boys in a headlock, we got in line and filed in.

We found really good seats. The Paramount's organist was playing, which only added to the excitement in the air.

When the curtain rose, I was struck by the elaborate, colorful costumes and the drumming. As an African American, the drumming spoke to my DNA. I sat up and realized that this was a Mexican ballet. 

Normally, nothing sprinkles pixie dust on my head quite like the ballet. I fall asleep like I have narcolepsy.

But not this ballet!

The drums, costumes, and dancers captivated me. I settled in to enjoy the show.

After intermission, primed to enjoy the second half of the program, my phone buzzed.

I received an alert from ADT that the burglar alarm had gone off at our house.

Oh, hell!

I turned and whispered the news to Dorothy. We agreed to excuse ourselves and drive home to see what had happened.

Dorothy drove. On the way home, I received a call from ADT asking if I wanted the police dispatched.

Yes!

Dorothy continued driving, weaving through traffic.

When we arrived at the house, everything looked fine from the front. We got out of the car and walked toward the front door.

In my manliest voice, I told Dorothy, "Wait right here. I'll go in."

I crept up the stairs to unlock the door.

I wasn't the only one creeping.

My boxer shorts crept straight up my ass as I unlocked the front door and peeped inside.

Our house always looks ransacked, but this was nothing out of the ordinary. I tiptoed into the other rooms, only to find everything still out of place.

Dorothy entered the house, looked around, and we both sighed in relief.

I went into the kitchen to make something to eat.

Dislodging my boxer shorts from my ass always makes me hungry.

A little later, as I sat in my chair eating, I heard a loud knock at the front door.

It was a police officer.

Dorothy answered the door. The officer stood there and asked if everything was okay.

We assured him that it was.

He said, "The alarm indicated that the motion detector in the dining room went off. Do you have a plant near the heater vent? Sometimes, in the winter, when the heat comes on, a plant near the vent will move and set off the alarm."

Then he asked, "Was the house warm when you got home?"

"Yes."

He continued, "All I need is to see some ID showing that either one of you lives here, and I can leave."

I held up my driver's license. He confirmed the address and told us to have a good night.

Well, there it is. We left a rocking Mexican ballet, rushed home expecting burglars, and discovered that the most suspicious character in the house might have been a houseplant.

I guess that's Better Living. Sometimes you get the ballet. Sometimes you get the burglar alarm. And sometimes you get both.