As a middle aged woman, I have given up on many of the myths and fairytale characters of my childhood; HOWEVER, there is one particular personality, or in this case, demon that I still strongly believe in...the House Troll.
This little critter is responsible for every wicked, unexplainable mishap and disaster that arises.
Just last night, my husband was staring at my bedtime apparel which consists of an oversized 1985 Cub Scout t-shirt, sweat pants, and socks (don't smirk, it's actually very sexy) and he asked me where all the holes came from on the bottom of the shirt. This is not the only one that has been chewed on and relegated to my PJ drawer. And - out of my entire family only my shirts have been destroyed. My answer to Eric...the House Troll.
The infamous missing socks. I am nothing if not obsessive about finding every piece of laundry on Tuesday mornings. I crawl under beds, dump out closets (it's actually kind of embarrassing ), and yet there is always one lone sock at the end of the day. House Troll.
The sewing needle that finds its way into the bottom of Eric's heel when I haven't sewn a button or attempted (I say that with all humility and humor) a hem for over a year. Damn that House Troll!
The clogged toilet bowl. Of course, no one poops in my house. Only the House Troll does.
I'm sure there are many more things I can blame on this little booger but right now I can't find my glasses and I'm really pissed off because my coffee cup just exploded in the microwave. Yeeesss...Hmmmm...???