Friday, March 23, 2012

If NCIS Came to Our House

A couple of weeks ago, I collapsed into my seat in the minivan on the way to a weekend at my in-laws and thought, "What did I forget?" as I mentally reviewed my last images of each room of the house, specifically trying to recall
  • anything that might burn the place down
  • anything that might rot and/or mold in two days
  • anything the kids can't sleep without
You know you do it, too.

Anyway, I started think about all those immaculate (except for crime-related mess), well-decorated, empty houses that the teams on crime shows search. My house never looks like those, but I fell into an intriguing daydream (which allowed me to ignore the kids-on-a-roadtrip noises) about what NCIS would say if they walked into my house, right at that moment....

After the usual door-busting preliminaries…

Zeva, calmly, “The tea in this cup is still hot. They were just here.” The team scatters throughout the house. “Clear.” “Clear.” “Clear.”

Tony glances sideways at the dining room table. “Well, someone’s house help took a vacation. Scratch that. On second glance, this is just the scrapbook project from hell.”

Zeva chimes in, “That’s odd. Why is this sofa pillow on the refrigerator?”

Gibbs says, “Bag it. Take it back to the lab. Where’s the dog?”

McGee looks up. “What dog’s that, Boss?”

Gibbs, dryly, “The one that goes with the collar and the doggie bags.”

“That dog, Probie.” Tony takes a picture of McGee’s face.

Zeva calls, “We have several hundred in small bills here.”

McGee, from Little A’s room, “I’ve got something here, Boss. Kid’s room--looks like blood stains on the sheets.”
Back at the lab, Gibb’s hands Abby a Caf-Pow.

Abby smiles. “I’m glad you’re here, Gibbs. Okay, first—the tea. It’s Tazo Green Tea with Ginger. I prefer Good Earth myself, but….”

Gibbs says, “Abby.”

“Right, Gibbs. The important thing is that the DNA on that cup is a fifty percent match with DNA we found on the sofa cushion. The sofa cushion also had traces of [insert scientific terms here] and bite marks consistent with a four-year-old human. Yes, that’s human saliva. I don’t even want to think how THAT got there.”

Gibbs looks at her. “And the blood?”

“First of all, the stains are old—like, last summer old. Ducky confirms that they do not match any normal spatter patterns. We also found traces of an over-the-counter ointment for relieving itching. So, I’m thinking someone had a severe case of mosquito bites last summer.”

Abby looks up proudly. Gibbs says, “Is that all, Abbs?”

“Isn’t that enough? Okay, so I also swabbed the cash for drugs, blood, all the usual stuff. Nothing there but [insert scientific jargon here].”

Gibbs looks at her.

“It’s Girl Scout cookie residue, Gibbs.”

Gibbs raises his eyebrows. “So we’re dealing with a scrapbooking cookie mom who never has time to drink her tea, but has an itchy kid who chews pillows. Is that what we’ve got here?”

Yep, that’s who they’re dealing with. I’d also like to point out that the wonderful lady who boards our dog never seems to want his collar or pick-up bags. Whatever. He loves her. Possibly because she never wants his collar or pick-up bags…

And if anyone might be questioning my choice to wash, keep, and use the sheets…think about it. He LOVES his Cars sheets. This is Florida, complete with year-round bugs. He may have stopped sleep-scratching until he bleeds, he may not have. Would you really buy a whole new set of Cars sheets that might get ruined immediately?

Besides, I’d like to point out that buying new sheets would almost guarantee a sleep-scratching incident. As it is, he hasn’t done it in months! See? I’m really just looking out for my kid.

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