I just nearly died in the shower. Seriously, I did.
On a quiet weekend morning, I climbed out of bed to enjoy a leisurely shower. I was pretty sure I had the whole house to myself.
OK, a couple of teens were sacked out in the other room, but it would take an Old Testament marvel to rouse them.
I was certain of this, as I’d sent them to bed just a few hours earlier.
So I grabbed the opportunity to take a non-rushed shower.
I snatched my shampoo and intense therapy comb-through hair conditioner. (Hey, I only bother with the more time-consuming products on down-time weekends.)
I fairly sighed, as I stood in the perfect temperature water, lathering up my locks and enjoying some peace and quiet.
And then it happened.
I heard a click. Or at least, I thought I did. Next, I heard a cupboard door slam.
I nearly fainted. Startled, I struggled to stay on my feet.
He was already gone.
Still, the bathroom door was now unlocked. And the towel hanging on a hook on the back of the door was still swinging.
The Boundaries-Don’t-Apply-to-Me-Bandit had come and gone.
I resumed my shower, switched off the spigot, and wrapped in my towel. Stepping from the shower, I peeked into his bathroom cupboard. His toiletries kit was gone.
Hitchcock never dreamed up anything so stressful. It may not have been a stranger, but it was most definitely an intruder.
From PSYCHO (1960)