I’m pretty sure I have poltergeists in my closet, Reader.
There’s no other way I can explain the recent phenomena that has occurred.
For the past two days, I’ve selected long sleeves shirts and both of them have had a big, gaping hole in the left elbow.
And I’ve worn them to work, so maybe someone who has payroll power saw that, and will deliver a big fat raise to my paycheck, because I’m obviously poor, walking around in rags.
More likely my assistant has been the only one to notice, has felt too awkward to mention it to me, but instead secretly thinks about what a mess I am, old lady can’t even dress herself nice.
That’s what I’d be thinking.
That’s what I AM thinking, actually.
I’m an old mess who can’t even dress myself nice.
The one long-sleeved t-shirt is from Gap, and it’s not even very old – I only bought it this past October.
I must have some super-duper pointy elbows with scaly skins that poke right though fabric, but only on the left side.
I just touched it, and it doesn’t feel that pointy.
So it must be poltergeists. A poltergeist who believes I need to air out my left elbow during the day.
I noticed the second hole when My Mister and I were at the movies last night. We saw two movies, by the way, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty and Grudge Match, in case you were wondering. They were good enough. Walter Mitty made me tear up in the end, I found it rather touching.
Anyway, my elbow kept touching something cold on the armrest, it felt like something wet, which was grossing me out so I had to get to the bottom of it. Once I discerned it was nothing on the armrest, I started feeling around my sleeve and noticed the gaping hole, and realized it was just my bare naked elbow touching the plastic of the armrest that felt foreign, and not someone’s jizz they had left behind on the armrest.
I felt better for a moment, knowing it wasn’t some gross bodily fluids I was touching, but then I felt mystified as to how I could have another hole in the exact same place as the sweater I was wearing the previous day.
I leaned over to My Mister and whispered, “I have another fucking hole in my elbow!”
He leaned over and whispered, “Huh. So you’re officially now a hobo.”
I wonder if those hole-making poltergeists are the same ones who make my clothes not fit after sitting in the closet for a couple of months. Poltergeists are mean, is what it boils down to. Maybe we should be on one of those “haunting” shows and work out our differences.