Before we get started today, we have ANOTHER office tour (that puts our total up to 17)!  Heather over at A Life For Rent showed us what she’s got right here.  Please enter at your own risk – she’s got fire hazards.  And if you still haven’t done yours – it’s not too late.

Also, if you haven’t entered my Great Canadian Butter Tart Giveaway, then you should.  But you only have until 6pm EST today (Wed July 14/10) to get on it – chop chop.

Okay, now to get on with my story . . .

I live in the suburbs.  The neighbours on one side of us have a pool, a hot tub and 2 teen-aged kids.  We’re not particularly friendly with them.  Well, its not that we’re UN-friendly, it’s just that they kinda keep to themselves.  As do we.  Which is quite fine!  We’ll give each other the mandatory polite smile and head nod if we should find ourselves out front of our houses at the same time.  We’ve spoken on a few occasions when it involved changes to our properties that we felt the other should be advised of.  But that’s about it.

That being said, my boys kick balls against our adjoining fence EVERY. BLOODY. DAY.  Thump.  Thump.  Thump . . . it NEVER ends.  I swear I hear that sound in my sleep.  And every day, a ball – or two – end up OVER the adjoining fence.

Our neighbours are kind enough to just toss them back over the next time they are in their backyard.  Over the years, I’ve apologized for this.  Willie has apologized for this.  I’ve had the boys apologize for this.  And we thank them when the opportunity arises.

Fortunately they just chuckle about it and point to their own kids and it’s understood that they have also “been there”.  Since they’re often away on the weekends, they have indicated that if their back gate isn’t locked, the boys can just run around and grab the ball(s) if necessary.

But when a hand-held sized water balloon that my boys were tossing went over the fence on Saturday night, in the dark, I couldn’t just let it go.

I had visions of the little thing floating around the surface of their above ground pool until it was grabbed by the skimmer hole, forced down into the basket where it would block the flow of water, thus burning out their pump and causing considerable, expensive damage.

Have I ever mentioned that I can be a little OCD sometimes?

This was one of those times.  Panic set in.  Destructive visions danced around my head.  My ears were on high alert for odd pool filter noises.  I knew there would be no sleep that night until the situation was resolved.

So I told Willie “you’re going to have to go over there and get it”.

To which he replied “It’s fine.  Nothing’s going to happen.  I’m not going over.”

Which I took to mean “do it yourself”.

And so I did.  And thus my search & rescue mission was born . . .

Armed with a flashlight, I headed next door.  Rang the door bell.  Noted that the interior of the house was in darkness.  Waited.  And waited.  No answer.  No car in driveway.  Clearly the occupants were not home.

I go around to the side gate.  It’s pulled closed but not locked.  So I enter.

I scour the yard near the fence for the water balloon.  “It was kinda in that direction” the boys say as they attempt to guide me.  But it’s not on the ground.  Ha!  Just as I suspected – it MUST have landed in the pool.  Thank God for me.

I shine the flashlight on their pool and begin to systematically check all areas of its surface.  No balloon.  It MUST be in the skimmer basket as I had feared!  I hope I’m not too late . . .

I head to the back corner of their yard where the skimmer is located and try to peek in.  This proves to be difficult.  It would be easier to remove the lid and look in .  Lid is stuck.  Can’t remove it.  Damn.  What next?

Just then their bright security light in the backyard comes on.  Crap!

It’s at that moment, with my eyes temporary blinded by the security light, that I notice the teen-aged son has come out onto their back step.  BUSTED!  The lazy bugger must have been sleeping when I rang the bell!

“Oh hi!  It’s just me, Cher, from next door” I awkwardly explain (in case he had a gun or a baseball bat)

But it’s not just the teen-aged son.  Behind him I notice the parents.  Who have clearly JUST arrived home and found someone with a flashlight prowling around their backyard.

And so my nervous, busted rambling begins . . .

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.  No one answered when I rang the door bell.  But you see the boys accidentally put a ball over the fence again, but its a really small one, and it floats, and um, they thought it landed in your pool and um, I was really worried that it’d end up in your skimmer and damage your equipment . . . ”

At this point I notice that it is strangely quiet over the fence at my own backyard.  And that my guys have ran into our house like a flock of nervous girls and left me out there on my own to dig myself out of this embarrassing hole – nice.

“Anyway, I don’t seem to see it in there, so I think it’s okay.  ha ha.  Really sorry.”

And then I leave.  Without really giving them a chance to say anything.  Trying to walk calmly and slowly back to my own house like it was no big deal.  When in actuality, my heart was pounding and my face was red and I was totally embarrassed that I had been caught.

I know they were probably thing “WTH???  Does she come over here every time we’re out?  Should we believe her story or was she up to no good?”

Somehow, I’d like to blame this on Willie.

Ever been caught red-handed doing something sneaky?  Will I ever be able to look them in the eye again?  Do you want to win butter tarts?