Free Bright Lights, Big Ass: A Self-Indulgent, Surly, Ex-Sorority Girl's Guide to Why It Often Sucks in the City, or Who Are These Idiots and Why Do They All Live Next Door to Me? by Jen Lancaster

just that when we first started dating, I wanted him to believe I was normal, so it never came up. 9
    “I know what it is, thank you. ” He holds up the knife and turns it over in his hands. The handle is wrapped in green cord Fletch calls Hundred Mile an Hour Tape . (I’ve never asked for an explanation because if Fletch starts in on his army stories, I’ll pretty much end up stabbing myself in the ear.) The blade is over a foot long and almost four inches across at its widest point, and it tapers down to a deadly little point. It’s possibly the scariest thing I’ve ever seen and is so much cooler than the variety of steak knives I used to sleep with in college. “My question is, why is it under my pillow ?”
    “I kept it there for protection while you were gone.”
    “So if someone broke in, you were going to stab them?”
    “Uh-huh. Or cut something off. Guess it would depend on what was more expedient. Ooh, also, I sat in the front window every night and sharpened it, just in case any bad guys were casing the joint. Be careful when you pick it up—it’s quite sharp now.” I begin to arrange the pillows on my side of the bed into a proper sleeping nest. I like the flat acrylic-filled one as a bottom layer, then I have my feather pillow from childhood stacked on top of it at an angle. I also snuggle with a big body pillow that I call President George Squashington, but it’s not on the bed. I cross the room to retrieve it. “Honey, did you forget? You moved President Squashington! I need him so I can sleep.”
    “Sorry, didn’t recognize him without his powdered wig. But back to what we were saying—you’ve been sleeping with this mammoth knife because you’re concerned about your safety.”
    “Deeply.” I fluff the president and place him perpendicular to the others.
    “Despite the fact we live behind two security gates?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “And have an alarm system.”
    “Yep.”
    “And 165 pounds of shepherd and pit bull.”
    “Duh. Who’s going to protect the dogs? Me and my knife, that’s who.”
    Suddenly Fletch looks very tired. “Tell me, how do you counter the fact our area has one of the lowest crime rates in the city?”
    I toss a cat off the bed so I can shake out my quilt. “Well, it’s not as low as I’d like. You realize I go to the Chicago Sex Offender database all the time and look up the local addresses, don’t you? There are eight registered child molesters in our police beat! Eight! That’s eight too many.” I walk over to my dresser, open a drawer, and pull out a laminated folder. “Would you like to see their dossiers?”
    “You did not print out their information.”
    “Of course I did! I’m constantly vigilant, and since I wasn’t busy cooking, I needed a project while you were gone.” I hand him my stack of mug shots. “I figure if these guys are prowling around—and have suddenly lost their taste for children—I need to know. Besides, if I didn’t print them out, I’d have to look up their addresses whenever I take the dogs around to pee on their lawns.”
    Fletch shakes his head and opens his mouth but no words come out.
    “What? The dogs have to relieve themselves somewhere, right? Plus, I like the whole retribution aspect of it— no green lawn for you, you pervert! Kind of like a Scarlet Letter, only in dead grass. I swear, Loki seems to whiz battery acid. Anyway, I’ve decided it’s my civic duty to keep an eye on their homes to make sure I never see a Big Wheel parked in their yard. I’m telling you, if you’re not constantly vigilant, you aren’t safe.” 10
    He hands the papers back to me and I file them away in my underwear drawer. “If safety is such a concern, tell me again why we can’t have a shotgun.”
    “Pfft. A home invader would assume you’d have a gun, but a machete? That’s completely out of left field. Really, that’s some Monty Python, Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition shit. Plus, if you hack off a bad guy’s