Have I Told You About the Time We Were Robbed By Gypsies?

You knew we had gypsies, right??

Wait, no. Let me start over.

Who knew we had gypsies?? Right??

I didn’t. But apparently, when you lose your camera but you think it was stolen so you call the cops because someone down the street said yesterday that the other house for sale in our neighborhood was robbed — clearly this defines a spree of robberies of homes with for sale signs in front of them, a trend — and you nail the time the camera was stolen to between the hours of 1 and 3, but then upon further recall, it could have happened when Skye was mowing the lawn between noon and 1, it could only mean one thing. Gypsies!

That’s what the City of Upper Wonderful police officer said.

He would know. Right? He has been in charge of this beat since we’ve lived in this house. He was on this beat way back when I hung up that sign that pissed off all the neighbors because it said, “Speeders Beware: If you hit my kid, I’ll kill you.”

I called the police station before I posted the sign to see if it was legal to say “or I’ll kill you”, and they said it was legal as long as I wasn’t saying I’d kill someone in particular.

But after they got all the phone calls they said I should probably move my freedom of speech off the city tree at the curb and put it on my own tree.

What they were really saying is, “Can you take it down altogether? We had a good laugh down at the station but…now the calls are getting old.” And I didn’t really mind taking it down anyway because it had rained that afternoon and the soggy cardboard no longer made a proper sign, not to mention the steady stream of shocked onlookers during dinner was distracting my toddler from his vegetables.

I kept spinning that story around in my mind, picturing the whole thing. How the gypsy came in, what he was wearing, where he looked around, that he must have been pretty smart to know that a really expensive camera was inside that plain black bag, and that the checkbooks sitting out on top of the desk next to the camera would do him no good, and the laptop on the nearby dining room table…well, he must have not seen that, or, because he’s a gypsy, didn’t know how to use it. Maybe he didn’t have electricity at his gypsy camp. If only we could find these mysterious gypsy camps. They’re as elusive as weapons of mass destruction. But they’re out there. Believe me. They are out there. Our camera is missing.

The string of loose facts swirled around in my brain and nudged me out of a sound sleep at 3am that night. I was pissed at the violation. Then I was sad. I was questioning all this good karma I’ve been having lately and wondering if it was over. This must be the end of it. The camera was stolen. Our luck has run dry. Was that it? Would we ever have luck again?

Our karma could NOT have run out!! Say it isn’t so! I circled the house one more time. I searched my minivan. Triple checked all the places we’ve set that camera down in the four months that we’ve owned it. Because I can remember stuff like that. I can remember where I’ve put things down. I remember all the places I have put things down. I’m a freak that way.

When I call Skye at his hotel room in Detroit, I tell him that I have checked all of the places and he still insists that I must not have looked next to the desk because THAT. IS. WHERE. HE. PUT. THE. CAMERA. HE REMEMBERS IT CLEARLY.

“Can you please just check your car? Retrace your steps?”

“You want me to go out there in my underwear!” It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

“Yea. That’s what I asked. Your love for me is true only if you go out there in your underwear.”

And then I hung up.

And then he called back.

He must have put his pants on because he called to apologize. It was finally sinking in, this theft. He’s apologizing for not checking to make sure the doors weren’t locked before he left the house between 1 and 3.

(It pleases me to no end that he’s not blaming me for not locking the door. I never lock it and I go in and out of that door all the time. But that’s just between us.)

Since Skye is in Detroit on a business trip I it’s up to me to take security matters into my own hands. I “Home Alone” the house. I put a pink post-it note on the back door that says, “Alarm will sound if door is opened”. That is how high tech my security system is. For further fortification, I prop the snow shovel on its handle and lean it against the back door to the garage, where the thieves obviously entered, so when they do enter again, and they will, should the ominous post-it note fail to deter them, the loud shovel clanging on the echoey cement garage floor will scare them away for sure.

I was Nancy Drew, checking my caller ID to see who called me between the hours of 1 and 3, found out we weren’t home and snuck in the back door. The window installers for the new house called at 1:17 p.m.! I put them on my list of suspects. I also put home security systems companies on my list. I was doing some groundbreaking investigative thought on this. I was about to be on CNN, busting the lid on big businesses, like home security companies, hiring illegal immigrants to break into peoples’ homes to get them scared enough to buy a home security system in these desperate economic times. Very clever. It was the old Dick Cheney. Control them with fear. And it was all making sense now. I am officially the smartest person in Columbus, Ohio for figuring this out.

Get this! When I went to the new house and checked the mailbox, in the stack was bulk mail from a home security system. What did I tell you!!!? This theft was obviously thought up by a white collar guy at a desk — just steal one item?Maybe sell it on eBay or craigslist…that is so white collar guy behind a desk.

You can believe that at 3am when I woke up and made rounds that I checked for a Canon EOS Rebel T1i on eBay. I found one that had been posted after the time the camera was stolen. I showed the cop the link. He was going to inquire. This was going to be brilliant because I was able to give the cop the serial number on the camera. He had something to go by. This case was coming together nicely. He didn’t act at all like, “Ma’am. This is so freaking trivial. Look, I have real crimes to report.”

No. He had nothing. This was better than nothing. This was something.

I called the insurance company and told the agent the whole story.

“Yea! The cop said gypsies come around neighborhoods like this in the Spring when people are out doing yard work.”

“And they only stole one thing?”

“Yea. That’s how we figured they must have done it when Skye was mowing the lawn. They were in a hurry. The cop said they have a car waiting for them at the end of the street. They grab and go.”

The gypsy scandal ruined my day. Skye returned from Detroit in the evening. He put his suitcase next to the desk.

I said somberly, “That’s where you put down the camera bag.” I was finally believing him that he really did place the camera bag there. This unconscious act of habit was proof.

Skye goes out to his car to finish emptying it out. He walks back in holding a black bag that has “Canon Rebel” embroidered on the strap. “Look what I found!” he says.

It will be a while before I let him live this one down.

*A special thanks, a high five and a fist bump goes to the magnificent Myspace Lori for the fine artwork!!

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