Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Day 18 -- The ghost with poor bladder control

If anyone is expecting to come over to our house after tomorrow to possibly bring over some pie or something, save yourself a trip.  I have decided to move out of the house and either put it up for auction and sell it to the highest bidder, or burn it down to the studs.*  I don't really know where our family will live (hint, hint), but we have a large SUV that possibly could work for a week or two.

The reason for the sudden eviction comes from a horrible invasion of an incontinent ghost.  It seems that although this house was built in 2008 and there's no evidence of an Indian burial ground, a specter has still decided to appear and make it's home in our home.  At first I couldn't believe it and accused Old Man Smithers who owned the abandoned amusement park.  But after so many strange occurrences over the past few weeks, I'm convinced it's a ghost with poor bladder control.

As I write this our guest room toilet is in the middle of a flush, with no living person using it.  That's right, for no earthly reason, our toilet just flushes.  I began to notice the phantom flushing when I was sitting in the family room and out of the blue came a big whooshing sound.  I looked around and counted the family members in the room and came up with three.  I was fairly certain some homeless guy didn't break into my guest bathroom just to use the john, but I let it go since I never heard it before.

Then two days later it happened again.  Then it became more frequent.  Now it seems that about every other hour, the thing drains itself.  I tried to be rational about it and look for a pattern: perhaps it goes off when someone else uses the toilet, or when the heat pump runs.  But just when I think I have it nailed down, the pattern changes or it flushes when nothing else it happening. 

The internets tell me that it's either some air is in the wet vent (whatever that means), or that the flapper needs to be changed.  However, I pretty sure we don't have a 1920's woman who shows disdain for conventional dress and behavior living in our toilet, so the only other conclusion is the ghost.  Besides, there are other reasons to believe that a ghost haunts our house:
  • The pillows get torn up when we leave the house.  The dogs swears that it isn't him.  I lean towards his version, because every time I show him the tattered pillow he runs and hides under the bed.  Anyone that afraid of a pillow couldn't possible shed it to smithereens.
  • Toys get scattered all over the floor without reason.  Every day the Princess tells me that she can't pick up the messes because she didn't make them.  She also doesn't know who made them, even if the mess maker did seem to have fun.
  • My phone moves around to strange places.  Evidently the spirit likes to pull some pranks.  My phone should live on the kitchen counter, right next to the charging cords.  But every now and then I have a hard time locating the damn thing.  I've found it in my coat pocket, various drawers, the washer, the dryer, on top of the stacked washer dryer, the car glove compartment, the Princess's Doc McStuffin's play house, under the bed, in the outside trash can, and in the Queen's briefcase.  Enough is enough, I have important calls to make. to play Angry Birds.
  • The beer is missing.  I'm sure I'd remember drinking it.  My pants are also missing.
I probably could live with Sir Haunts-a-Lot and his antics if not for the whole bathroom thing.  It's not even that the constant flushing wastes our precious natural resources (although I'm kinda pissed about the water bill).  But every time he flushes that toilet, it makes me need to go to the bathroom -- a Pavlovian peeing trigger, if you will.  I have to drink about a gallon of water every two hours just to keep up with it.

So, take the house, pillows, and beer.  At least I will keep my bladder!


Editors Note: Please disregard any mention of burning down the house.  Especially the fire inspector.  All fires have spontaneously risen and/or are set by ghosts who happen to give expensive gifts for everyone willing to "look the other way."

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