Monday, March 14, 2016

Trapped in a Parallel World

Since we gave up on moving to a larger house (about a year ago) we've been working on making our current house more usable. This has involved various sorts of rearrangements, including the addition of the loft bed in our bedroom, the move to a flatscreen TV in the living room (which allowed us to remove the massive, heavy, space-consuming entertainment center that I'd had since Grad School), and now a full-scale remodeling of the kitchen.

One piece of the plan had been to set up the larger closet in the master bedroom as writing area for me. We had moved my computer desk in there, and then... well, nothing. For various reasons, it simply hadn't gotten done.

On Friday, however, I came home to discover that what with all the things that had been moved around, I had absolutely no place to set up my laptop. I wasn't feeling too well, so I didn't do anything about it then; but on Saturday, after everyone had gone to sleep, I cleared all the crap of the computer desk in the closet, pulled an extension cord from the garage and used it to plug in the power strip, and was finally able to set up my laptop again. It took at least an hour, and when I was done I had a drink, noodled around for a bit on the Internet and the word processor, and then collapsed into bed.

Beautiful Wife let me sleep in.

So, when I woke up, I could hear people moving around in the rest of the house, but there was nobody but myself in the back bedroom. I brushed my teeth. I used the restroom. I snuck into the closet and sat down at the computer.

Then I sent my wife a message on Facebook: "Where did everybody go?"

Then another: "Did I wake up in the wrong plane of existence or something?"

If she'd responded, I was going to say something like, The washing machine and the dryer are running and the Playstation's on, but I don't see any people. Tragically, she did not, and the clever next step in my ruse went unused.

Instead, she came to the back bedroom, climbed up the ladder, found the bed empty, and started looking around while calling my name in a somewhat concerned tone of voice.

The secret to any good joke is knowing when to stop, so at that point I opened the closet door and peered out. I admitted that really I was only trying to make her think that I was trapped in some Silent Hill alternate reality version of our house, and it hadn't actually happened.

Her response? "You are both EVIL and hilarious!"


  1. Hmm... Your "About Me" item says you're a "tragically unpublished writer." I had no idea you were a closeted tragically unpublished writer. Or is that a tragically closeted unpublished writer?

  2. Like the closet door, it's kind of an open secret.


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