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M
oving is such a pain.
You'd be surprised how much stuff you can accumulate in just
a few short years. When I was younger, I sorta enjoyed it, even
though it was a lot of work. As an incorrigible scatterbrain,
I've got more neato junk that's mine, but lost in some obscure
corner of the closet or in the nether reaches of some desk drawer
than the average ruler of a small, third world country even dreams
of owning. So, when piling things into boxes, I would invariably
discover lost treasures....which would be immediately and lovingly
placed in a special box, one prominently emblazoned with the
glowing red inscription, 'IMPORTANT!!! Do NOT Lose!'...which
naturally means that the entire box and its urgently important
contents are doomed to be sucked into the hungry end of an unstable
black hole during transit...and materialize somewhere in the
Delta Quadrant of the Andromeda Galaxy, never to be seen again
on Earth.(just what the Andromedans are going to do with all
that vitally important junk, I couldn't possibly guess.)
I used to enjoy unpacking at the new house, too. It was great, because it was a fresh start. I could take my time and make sure every item went into the Absolute Perfect Place...so I would never lose anything ever again...or so the naive theory goes. Unfortunately, this theory never took into account the fact that children often have a radically different opinion of the Absolute Perfect Place for any given item. Silverware BELONGS in the back yard sticking out of the mud. The cordless phone BELONGS in the crack of the sofa, along with the spare change and potato chips. Clean folded towels BELONG in the garage wadded up between the weedwhacker and the lawnmower, along with the moldy peaches and melted ice cream that are being saved 'for later.' Nor did my theory take into account the fact that our new house has mischievous gremlins.(much more sneaky than roaches or mice) These gremlins take a peculiar delight in putting billfolds under the bed, legos in the fishtank, the check for our income tax refund(along with the rest of the day's mail) in the cabinet under the bathroom sink, and that hot new DVD of The Matrix in the case for the software, 'Magic Schoolbus Explores Ralphie's Intestines.' And then, of course, there's the ultimate chaotic variable...conspiracy. Apparently the Andromedans have found my misdirected box of treasures to be incredibly valuable...because things just turn up missing, and I've occasionally caught in my peripheral vision, the telltale flash of a blackhole opening and closing in the back of the refrigerator, and in the closet, and even in the medicine cabinet. And there's the one in the clothes dryer. Not that it will come as any surprise to you. Every dryer has one of those. It's standard equipment in every model since the Andromedans' hostile takeover of the home appliance industry. (The very name, 'Whirlpool' is a veiled reference to a spiral galaxy(!!!)) But my house is different. There is a vast network of Andromedan blackholes, all strategically located to rid us of our aluminum foil, hairbrushes, pens and pencils, favorite Tshirts, the last serving of Ben and Jerry's right out of the carton, and the last few pieces of our jigsaw puzzles. Nothing is safe. Last week, I found this strange note in my dryer. It was written on something that looked like that silvery stuff weather balloons are made of, but it was weird stuff. You could roll it into a little wad the size of a marble, but when you put it down, it would instantly spread itself out into a smooth, shiny sheet the size of a poster. The note proclaimed in implacable glowing red letters, 'Your possessions will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.' Pesky Andromedans. Now, where DID I put those car keys?... |