I Can't Make This Up: Life Lessons

by Kevin Hart

I looked at our door, and it looked back at me. Something seemed off. It was the hinges! They’d been removed. I screamed, “Oh, shit!” I looked around. No one was in sight. I pulled open the door. Actually, I sort of pulled and lifted; it was more of an obstacle now than a door. I stuck my head in and yelled, “Mom!” Now, I knew my mom wasn’t there, but I figured that would scare the thieves and murderers that I was sure had invaded my house. After all, nothing scares a grown-ass man more than someone yelling “Mom!” in a whiny voice. I walked inside, still yelling “Mom!” That was my weapon. I don’t need no gun. I got my mom. That was when it dawned on me that the apartment only had one door, so where were these criminals gonna run if they heard me and panicked? Straight at me. I stopped yelling. This plan wasn’t really well thought out. But you don’t plan for these things. They just happen. So I’m walking inside now, slowly, scanning for anything suspicious or out of place. Scanning, searching, examining. The hallway looked like it always looked. No one had taken the ceiling or made the walls wider. I don’t know what the fuck I was expecting to see in the hallway. I kept walking, scanning, examining. And then I backtracked and saw it: the stove. There was a pot of half-eaten grits on the stove. I knew it wasn’t my mom’s, because no one leaves a dirty dish in her kitchen. It was now pretty clear what had happened: Someone had broken into my house and cooked grits. I had a coo...