I went home yesterday to spend Thanksgiving with my family. My own car is still in the shop after catastrophic failure of the transmission, so my Dad came and picked me up. The resultant conversation on the way home quickly reminded me of why I love coming home. But that's neither here nor there.
This year, we spent Thanksgiving at my aunt's. There aren't many of us since one of my brothers spent it with his in-laws and the extended relatives don't seem to know who we are anymore. Besides, my aunt's husband is a wonderful cook!
Anywhat, we were milling about their kitchen when I noticed two things that happened almost at the same time. First, the refrigerator shudders and stops humming. Then, the the oven's (which still contains the turkey) digital temperature display skyrockets to 750 degrees and stays there for a few minutes before shooting down to 200 degrees and finally settles back on 350. As soon as that's over, the fridge lurches back to life and nobody seems to have noticed a thing. About half an hour later, as we're setting out the food for a buffet, I hear scratching from the oven, followed by almost inaudible laughter (and none of that sanitized Victorian "tinkling of bells" crap). Again nobody noticed. Finally, we decide to serve dessert. I open the refrigerator to get my mom's eclair cake (which is surprisingly good for sugar-free) and catch a glimpse of a brown foot dodging behind the milk. I nonchalantly turn to put the dessert on the counter and immediately turn back to see the little foot dodging for the milk again. Reaching back behind the jug, I meet scratches and bite on a very tiny scale. I close my hand on it and pull it out.
Gremlin. A kind of fae creature dating from World War II. They lived to torment servicemen, pilots in particular, by sabotaging aircraft and other machines. They hit everyone without regard for side or affiliation so nobody ever thought to discourage them. After that war, there was less air combat and therefore less opportunities for their fun. So, they moved onto other targets when the pilots arrived home.
So I pull this little annoyance out and all the while he's spouting quiet profanities from his tiny mouth. I close the door and back up and step back. My dad is standing there with an amused smile on his face. Here I am with an offensive little person in my hand and he's not acting the least bit surprised.
"Looks like you found the third one," he chuckles, gesturing at a mason jar in his left hand. It contains two others, "I found these buggers in the oven. Gremlins. Pain in the butt, huh?"
He takes the last critter from me and put it in the jar. All the while I'm thinking Wait, when did my dad start noticing these things? And almost like he's reading my mind he replies, "What? You thought you were the only one who saw things? I'm gonna go hide this with our coats." And then he left, leaving me in a dumbfounded silence.
Some days I love being part of my family.
Gremlins. Not this cute, twice this destructive.
No comments:
Post a Comment