I don’t recall when it started, or who noticed it first, but the fact remains that our house is currently possessed. Oh, I guess I’m exaggerating. Not our entire house. Just our kitchen. Or maybe my office. Possibly the garage. OKAY, the entire first floor is suspect. But really, that’s only half the house. So yes, half our house is currently possessed.
Or just kind of… beepy.
It’s a sneaky beep. It doesn’t happen at regular intervals, it doesn’t seem. You’ll just be puttering around in the kitchen, packing lunches or sneaking some of your kid’s jelly beans (what?) and there’s this faint, muffled *beep* that comes from… somewhere.
I think it’s in the kitchen. Or under the kitchen.
Or in the garage. Or my office. Really, it’s a wonder we haven’t found it yet.
My strategy is simple: I commit to singular denial until I actually hear a beep, and then my annoyance level is immediately amped up to eleven. “THERE IT IS AGAIN!” I’ll cry. “WHERE IS IT COMING FROM? MAKE IT STOP!” But then I won’t hear it again and I’ll just continue on with my day. Tra la la! What beep? I hear no beep.
Otto, on the other hand, periodically goes on the hunt. Why, just yesterday he got up super-early even though he didn’t have to work, and he spent half an hour trying to find the source of the sound. He was unsuccessful. And this may be because we have no idea what we’re looking for.
Is it a child’s toy? A watch? A malfunctioning kitchen appliance? A gremlin whose deepest desire is to one day join Blue Man Group? The possibilities are nearly endless. Whatever it is, it clearly hates us. Because one you decide to search for the beeping thing, it stops. And then when you give up, as you leave the kitchen, it does the equivalent of a rude gesture at your back.
The kids hear it occasionally, so at least I know it’s not a joint hallucination my husband and I are having, or anything.
It’s not a smoke detector with a dying battery. It’s not any of the kitchen electrics. No one is missing a watch, and if it’s a toy belonging to the kids—setting aside how it came to be buried in a kitchen cabinet or under the floor or whatever—the children are not fessing up.
It’s just a mystery.
A mystery that is slowly driving me insane. A mystery that has become the punch line to everything that’s ever made me grumpy. I have cellulite and something in the kitchen won’t stop beeping! The kids overslept and there’s that beep again! The dog I wanted to went to another family and OHMYGODMAKEITSTOP. You get the idea.
Forget waterboarding. I suggest judicious usage of the PHANTOM BEEP to bring people to their knees. It’s working pretty well over here.
(If you need me, I’ll just be curled up under my desk, here.)