Stained Glass Window

Featured in "Comedy Newsletter (April 5, 2023)" 

The view from my window is my window. A stunning blend of colors in antique glass, old-world artwork.

Every day when I wake I see the stained glass insert in the wall. Every night before I turn off the light I again see the stained glass.

Coming into the house from the yard I can see the stained glass through the outside window.

The beauty of it beckons me, draws me into the comfort and safety of my home.

But one day I came home to see my outside window broken. Cautiously I unlocked the back door, afraid to enter. Who would I find inside?

“I’m coming in and I have a weapon!” I yelled as I crept inside. My weapon was a shovel.

Inside my room stood an unknown man staring at my stained glass window. Just standing and staring. Like he was hypnotized. But he probably was, just like I get when I stare at it for a time. That center circle has that effect on a person.

“Hey! Who are you?”

No answer. I raised the shovel and approached the man.

“Lady, do you know this beautiful window is put in sideways?” He looked at me quizzically.

“Mister, why are you in my house?” I shoved my shovel against his stomach. “No it’s not. I put it in that way so that when I’m in bed I can see it longwise.”

“But it’s supposed to be put in with the curly-q side at the top.”

I put the shovel down. “And who died and made you king of the stained glass world?”

“Just call me a connoisseur of the fine arts,” he stated.

I surveyed this person in my bedroom, dressed in ripped jeans, a dirty shirt and beat-up boots. I raised the shovel.

“You still don’t have the right to break into my home. I’m calling the police.”

“They’ll be on my side with this.”


The police showed up a few minutes later. The dispatcher was skeptical when I told her a man was in my house looking at my stained glass window, send help.

“Alright buddy, you just can’t break into people’s homes and criticize the placement of their art glass,” said Officer Mikkelsen.

“Thanks, Officer. I told him the same thing.”

“But I have to tell you, Miss Malone, I think he has a point. It does look a little wonky. I think the swirly edge needs to be at the top. It needs to be hung vertically not horizontally.” Officer Mikkelsen pointed to the stained glass window with his notebook.

“Exactly my point, officer. I told this kind lady that she should do the same thing. You see, I am sort of an art connoisseur. I know about these things.”

I stood dumbfounded. Here I was, in my own home, being bullied by a home invader and an officer of the law about how I installed an antique stained glass window for my private viewing pleasure.

“And Miss Malone, please put down the shovel. I don’t think this man, um, your name sir?” The officer pointed to the man with his pen.

“John Smith.”

“Right. This man, John Smith, will be any more of a bother today, will you.” Officer Mikkelsen closed his little notebook, put away his pen. “Can I take you somewhere, John Smith?”

The strange man shook his head and followed the Officer out the door.

They both were in conversation about stained glass and cathedrals and Michelangelo and the statue of David. I slammed the door on them.

The nerve. They didn’t even help board up my broken window.


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