I was intending to call this blog “Why I Sleep with a Katana and
Other Short Stories,” but I am on a laptop that drops about every third
letter and goes slowy and I’m irritated and frustrated. So I will be short
and save the other stories for later.
So last transfer, Sister Wallace and I (and because we did, Elder Riser and
Elder McBride did, also) bought wooden katanas. Why? Because they are
awesome, because we secretly want to be Samurai, because destroying boxes
with a sword is good stress relief/exercise, and so we could have an excuse to
beat up on each other. We named them. Sister Wallace’s is Truth and mine is
Light. Cheesey, right? But mostly awesome.
Anyway, I sleep with mine. I really love this sword. I’m super crazy.
I usually fall asleep cuddled up to my stuffed bat, Apollo (side note:
Sister Wallace sleeps with two stuffed manatees), with my sword in my hand. I am
trying to gain solid synergy with my sword. Haha.
So last Tuesday night. The lights are off and we’re lying in bed. It is
aroud midnight, but neither of us is asleep. It is just too hot and we are
probably pillow-talking about something ridiculous. All of a sudden,
Sister Wallace drops her voice down to a whisper.
“Sister Markland. There’s a man in the living room.”
If you’ve ever heard the “There’s a man on the back porch” story, then you
can imagine that my first response was something similar to that. If you
haven’t heard that story, then you can be impressed with how calm and
collected I was, keeping a cool intellect about me the whole time.
“What do you want me to do about it?” I whispered back.
“I dunno, somethng! And you’d better hurry because now he knows that we’re
awake,” she replied.
Thankfully, my sword was in my hand the whole time. So prepared.
Now, as long as you don’t ask Sister Wallace her opinion of what happened next, here is what happened next:
In a swift, elegant move, like the springing of a crane taking to the air, I
leapt, sword in hand, out of bed and turned on our bedroom light.
Spinning away from the light in the same motion, I slid open our
bedroom’s sliding glass door and fearlessly charged into our
apartment’s one other room (further side note: our whole apartment is
smaller than the living room of The Shire). Then, with even more elegance, and the grace
only brought about by righteous fury, I wielded my sword against the
intruder. I got in a few good blows before I realized that said intruder
was the men’s winter coat that has been hanging on Sister Wallace’s wardobe
since our first week in Gumi.
But, if there really had been an intuder, he would most certainly have been
vanquished. Sister Wallace might disagree with that–I cannot say–but at least
I didn’t just cower in the bed.
The moral of the story is this: sleep with a sword and never fear–not even
moth-eaten winter coats.