In November of last year (pre-blog... I know... it shocked me too), the Polka Dot Palace was broken into and multiple items were stolen. Thankfully, sweet Sadie May was unharmed, but it was a terrifying, frightening and traumatic experience, nonetheless.
Immediately after the incident, Little and Daddy armed me with pepper spray, which was both nerve-wracking and empowering. For a few weeks I kept it unopened in my purse. My theory being that if a "bad guy" were to approach and threaten me I could say, "Halt, do not come any closer and force me to open this package of pepper spray and proceed to spray it at you."
As I was explaining this one night to a family who I regularly babysit for, the husband (who also happens to be a partner at my dad's company) insisted that he open it for me. I relented, and was secretly thankful he was doing so. After he had it free from its plastic prison, he handed the spray to me and read the instructions aloud. As he read, my hand automatically followed his words, unleashing a torrent of pepper spray upon him and his wife.
As the kitchen filled with the acrid substance, we were all crying, hacking, wheezing. I tried to apologize. Profusely. As my lungs bled. The husband tried to assure me it was okay. As his eyes were disintegrating. His wife did not look amused. Even aside from the massive stink eye she was sporting. Needless to say, it was quite a while before I heard from the family again.
Silver lining: We now know exactly how pepper spray works. And trust me when I say... it's nasty business.