"The Guy with the naked wife"

After the day was long past, Ron could call our local law-enforcement office and simply state, "It's me, Ron B, the guy with the naked wife." Oh, they'd exclaim, let us connect you to your officer.

I'd been living with undiagnosed bipolar disorder for over 20 years. I also have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (click here for info: http://come-over.to/FASCRC/), also known as ARND. They're very similar in some regards, words like "Poor judgement and impulse control" and "Socially inappropriate and immature" are basically roadmaps for both conditions. I have heard that 33% of FAS sufferers are also bipolar. It just predisposes us.

So, I'm sick. That said, I had just gotten out of the shower one fine Saturday morning. It was about 10 AM. I heard a god-awful racket coming from the garage. I realized someone was breaking into the garage! What did I do?

What would you have done, had you heard some thug (who later turned out to be a crackhead) breaking into your garage? Think about it for a moment. You're undressed. You just got out of the shower.

I must also add at this point that we had just had our stock room broken into a few months before this incident. Some thug stole over $500 in quarters. The man we suspected? His car burned up on the freeway one day a few weeks later - electrical problems. He lost thousands of dollars when that happened. A few years before this incident, an individual sworn to serve and protect helped himself to the contents of Ron's backpack, leaving me nothing to live on for months while Ron recovered - that slime that wears a uniform stole nearly $2000. May he reap what he sows.

So, I'm a little sensitive on the subject. In the interest of full disclosure I must add that when I was a manic teenager I did some really dumb shoplifting/stealing. "As ye sow, so shall ye reap". See, I'll always give you honesty even when it makes me look bad.

I'm standing naked in my bathroom. I can hear the thieving slime. I'm naked.

Next thing I know, I'm hiding behind the open front door yelling at the thief. He just hurries up as he drags our lawnmower out to his van. I realize: "He's going to get away!"

We all know how important the police find basically petty theft of a lawnmower on a Saturday morning. The next thing I know, I'm outside, stark naked, stretch marks and all, screaming.

I remember I called him a little bastard and an M-F. The guy looks at me like his eyes are going to pop out of his head. I've got my hands over my crotch, I'm cursing at him, and I don't care. I only wish I had some clothes on so I could try to kick his ass. I march around the front of his van. I brand the license plate into my brain. I scream the license plate at the thief. I've got you, you little bastard! ABC-123! I gotcha!

I storm back into the house and grab Ron's cell phone. Ron has slept through the entire event. He only finds out about it as he hears me talking to 911 dispatch. When he found out I went outside naked to confront the thief, his eyes almost fell out of his head. Even the policeman looked a little alarmed.

"How did you get his plate?"
"I went outside naked and read it of the van."

That's how Ron could call and say "The guy with the naked wife." and get a response. I was apparently quite the subject of discussion down at our local cop shop.

And that's why I take my pills every day. The guy actually did us a favor (he was a crack head, went to prison on a bigger charge, had to detox! My lust for vengence is slaked thinking about that.), stealing our gas lawnmower. Ron got an electric one we both like a lot more.