I'm very afraid I'm going to die...

...before I even get to vacation.

I sent the Fries up to get ready for bed.  This usually takes them several minutes, so I wait a bit before heading upstairs myself.  (Okay, I'm lazy, and I don't want to have to go up the stairs and down the stairs more than once each for bedtime tuck-ins.)

It hadn't been more than two or three minutes and I hear muffled crying.

I figure if it's serious I'll get called.

No, it just continues.

And the screams get worse.

I went upstairs and discovered why the sounds of distress were so muffled: the pocket door to the top level had been closed.

As soon as I hit the hallway, things got considerably quieter, which told me right away that this was less than they were making it out to be...whatever this was.

Medium screeched that there was a bug behind the door.

So, they're all paralyzed?  What, they couldn't come get me?  They all had to stand there, in various states of undress (Large was closest to having her jammies on; she was putting her arm through the sleeve of her nightgown), and scream and cry so loudly that I was expecting buckets of blood when I tore upstairs?

Oh, I was not happy.

I explained to them (in increasing decibels) that this was NOT an acceptable reason to scream and cry and carry on the way they were, as if, magically, I would come riding to the rescue from something that they are a gazillion times bigger than.  As if I have supersonic ears that can hear over an air conditioner, two ceiling fans, a closed solid-wood pocket door, and a lawnmower outside.

I growled at them to finish getting ready for bed, then demanded to know where this "bug" was.

They couldn't find it.

I said their carrying-on probably scared it away.

After a final growl to finish getting ready for bed, I headed downstairs; I'd heard the mower stop out from and figured Hubby needed me to turn the porch light on.

That's when I heard Medium.

"It was just a fuzzy!"

...

I am going to die.