In the middle of the night

We don't get a lot of traffic on our end of the street. Although our old house was at the end of a cul-de-sac, we had more "wrong" cars turning around there than we have "right" cars driving past now. So when I woke up at 2:45 a.m. the other night and heard a car, it was a little surprising.

While still in the throes of grogginess, I realized the car was turning around. Who in the world would make a wrong turn, then drive a mile down our street before turning around?

I looked out the window, through the trees, and could see the car stopped on the street right in front of my house. It paused for several seconds and began driving away. With just parking lights on--no headlights.

If you can't already tell, we live in the sticks. We live almost at the end of the sticks. There are definitely no street lights. The nearest street light is probably five miles away, maybe even further. It's all I can do to wind my way up our street with my lights on. In bright daylight.

Who in the world would be driving on my street in the middle of the night without headlights?

Poachers? Drug dealers?

(Please, it's the middle of the night, and I'm not thinking clearly here.)

I debated waking Robert up. But he doesn't usually sleep well, and I hated interrupting him. And what exactly would I say? Instead, I waited there for 45 minutes, my head hanging off the bed to get a better look out my window, my ears straining for any unusual sounds. (The crickets and other bug noises drown out almost anything.)

Totally exhausted, I finally fell back asleep.

The next morning, I told Robert what I'd seen, what I'd heard. He looked at me rather oddly for a moment and asked, "Do you think it could have been the newspaper guy?"

Uhhhh . . . do ya think?

I'm SUCH a dork.

(Is it any surprise that he looks at me rather oddly quite often?)