The box. Explained.

So remember a few weeks back when on a Sunday morning, Anna and myself discovered a mysterious box? You know, the one that taunted us with its presence and brought up images of perhaps intrusion, deceit, and utter deviance?

Well, for starters, we threw it out.

That's right. As it was taking up space in the closet, Anna turned to me several days ago and just went "I don't want this here."

I tend not to disagree with Anna about these matters, not because I have a deficit of manhood or because I'm passive, but basically I've learned living with a woman (not just a woman, THE woman of my life, my soulmate, other phrases that will score me brownie points) that when they are determined to do something, it's useless. Completely useless. You just go with the flow before you became yet another casualty and I'm forced to put another 5 dollars into the "(Jerk) Jar". Yes, we actually have one.

So I chucked it into the garbage without any hesitation. Not because I cared, but rather because I'm a man and I'll take any opportunity to throw things into the basket. Which is odd considering I'm absolutely terrible at basketball and have met toddlers with more athletic ability than me.

Anna went to go take a shower last night, while I finished up a show on the telly. (I've been watching British TV shows lately so I find myself drawn towards their vernacular.)

All of a sudden, the water shut off. "BABY!"

Something was about to happen. I looked around, and noticed no small disasters near me. Nothing I had done in the last five minutes, at least.

Anna popped her head out of bathroom. "I figured it out!"

Life? Medical school? Why I'm so addicted to Doctor Who as of late?

"I figured out what the box was!" My head began spinning. That thing was long gone. I figured it was something unnecessary, something we'd laugh about.

It was our doorbell. Yes, we threw out our doorbell. Which had stopped working right around the time of its prompt removal.

This is going to be a very awkward conversation with our landlord.