I only scream if I see my husband naked

A high-pitched scream echoed through my house last night.

I immediately recognized the voice. It was my daughter.

After the scream…silence.

My heart squeezed all the way up into my throat.

I called upstairs. “Are you all right?” No response.

I imagined a number of scenarios. None of them were good.

I grabbed a couch pillow, the only viable weapon nearby.

I ran upstairs and tripped twice, ready to ward off the intruder.

Yeah, I know a pillow doesn’t exactly inspire fear but it was all I had at the time.

I burst into my kid’s room, waving the pillow like a madwoman.

My daughter wadded up a Kleenex and tossed it into the garbage can.

“Sorry about the scream, Mom. I found a stinkbug on my history textbook.”

I nodded and walked outside, where I buried ten years of my life under the green grass.

FYI, the only time I ever scream is when I see my husband naked. It’s a scream of delight.

The next time that happens, I’ll tell my kids not to worry…I saw a stinkbug in my bedroom.

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When was the last time you screamed?