The Other People that Live in My House

My wife and I are increasingly aware of the fact that we do not live alone. There are other people in our house. They have moved in sort of gradually it seems, making their presence known in various ways over the last number of months and years. The thing is that I think we would be OK with having other normal, decent people living in our house. We’re generally very easy-going, hospitable, and welcoming sorts of people. The problem is that we do not have normal, decent people living in our house.

We have savages living in our home. The other people living in our house are completely and unapologetically uncivilized. They have come from the deepest, darkest jungles of some undiscovered continent, and they live in the bedroom across from ours.

One of the people that lives in my house left our dinner table to use the restroom last night. This, in itself was not particularly distressing, and I was happy to encourage this sort of civilized behavior and excuse him. But this person disappeared back into the recesses of our home and after a number of minutes did not appear to be coming back. All the indications were that he had fallen into the commode or been sucked into one of the numerous heating vents.

All was silence; all was darkness.

When my wife pointed out this peculiarity, I began calling for our missing housemate. After a moment or two more, the silence was broken by the announcment that he had completed his mission but had accidentally ‘got some’ on his foot. This was a little concerning, but we assumed that this was getting worked out and that he would be back momentarily. But the moments continued to pass with his seat being vacant. Finally, and fearing the worst, I ordered him to appear. His scampering feet could be heard coming down the hall for several seconds before his beaming naked body emerged from the hallway. The savage that had left the table some time earlier, fully clothed, reappeared wearing only a Lightening McQueen loin cloth and holding a bandaid in one of his hands.

I asked this person what he was doing. With utmost seriousness, he explained that he had procurred a bandaid for his foot so it would be OK since he had gotten some on it.

I can’t make this kind of stuff up. We live with this native and his sister, and they do these kinds of things all the time. This kind of stuff is way better than comedy central. The really fun part is that these people have conspired together, and the forecast is that they will soon outnumber us.

I can hardly wait for the chaos.