Peek-a-boo, we see you! There must be other people that live in our house without our knowledge or permission. There’s only supposed to be the two of us, but judging from what I’ve witnessed, I know that there must be at least one or two other couples that reside here. They’re very unobtrusive, and skilled at keeping themselves hidden from our view.
I can only surmise what they must look like by the clues they leave behind. For example, the other ladies that have moved in are different looking than I am. I know this because my closet has clothing that ranges from size eight to size sixteen. I myself am a size twelve. Some of the clothes are brand new, with tags still on them, and since I can’t recall buying some of them (or even like some of them) they must belong to one of these mysterious live-in women.
Our front hall closet is brimming with items that I’m sure belong to these free loaders! Two people would never need thirty pairs of shoes, so many jackets, sandals, belts, mitts, and boots. It’s odd that they happen to be in our sizes, but since we are average people, it probably isn’t that uncommon. I think it’s just coincidence. The secretive men are just as bad as the women. I was shocked to find a minimum of eight different cowboy hats, and baseball caps too numerous to mention, scattered around the house. Now, correct me if I am wrong, but the last time I looked, Hubby only had one head. After all, his name isn’t Bartholomew, but at this rate we’ll have five hundred hats if these people can’t be stopped.
Lately, we’ve stopped blaming each other for things that go wrong, break or disappear. Especially things like the last piece of cake. Since we both deny eating it, we can only conclude that it was our unseen pests, I mean guests. We have so much food in the freezer/house that it has to be the squatters getting ready to feed the threshing crew that’ll be arriving come fall! And boy do they like to snack! I find bags of cheezies and licorice squirreled away all over the place. The minute we step out they must start chowing down, because every time I turn around there are dishes in the sink. Hubby’s at work all day, and I’m gone a lot, so you tell me… where are they coming from? It must be the hoard that’s hiding out ‘cause it certainly isn’t us! No wonder our grocery bill is sky high.
We seem to have an over abundance of “things”; three sets of curlers, four televisions, four computers, reading glasses, and it seems like we are buying toilet paper by the truckload. The list goes on and on. Laundry day is a nightmare. Oh my gosh, the shirts and towels! I know Hubby can’t have worn all those shirts in one week, and used all the towels. It can only be attributed to our illegal tenants.
Once I find out who these people are and where they’re hiding, it’ll be game over for them. After all, they aren’t even paying rent, the moochers. I’m tired of cleaning up after this crowd, and once they’re outta here, it’ll be just me and the Hubby again. What a relief that’ll be!
Author Val Enders resides in Spruce Grove, Alberta. She married her high school sweetheart, Richard, and they’ve been together for over 40 years. Val doesn’t consider herself a writer by profession, rather she writes more for her own enjoyment. An accomplished artist, Val’s a member of the Allied Arts Council of Spruce Grove. Visit Val’s “Journey Into Art” website at www.vals.webs.com
