OK, so. For the first time in my 34 years, I’ve just had my survival skills tested in the face of a home break-in. Result? Desperately lacking.

A few minutes ago, I decided to have a shower in an effort to put off writing my column. While in said shower, I thought I heard some knocking. To be sure, I stopped washing my hair and stood still for a moment. The knocking continued in a consistent manner but did not sound like it was coming from the door. Since a spring hailstorm has insurance companies buying everyone in our subdivision new roofs this summer, I decided the neighbors must have started their project and continued enjoying my shower.

I was in final rinse-off mode when I opened my eyes. Through the glass wall of the shower and in the reflection of the vanity mirror, I could see a very tall, hulking man standing in our master bedroom. Instantly, I started screaming. Not a cute scream, not a girly scream, but an “Aahhhhh! Aaaahhh!” scream that sounded like Jodie Foster in that movie “Nell,” the one about the woman who was raised in the woods.

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