Who ‘Ya Gonna’ Call?

There are things that happen at our house that cannot be explained. I’m not sure if we need a karmic cleanser or a ghostbuster.

It can happen any night, but especially the nights when we are bone tired, and never during the day. A faint chirp is heard. My groggy head turns and I mumble, “fire alarm.” My wife barely moves, because she knows it’s not an actual fire alarm, just a low battery indicator. The problem is finding the right one at 3am since we have at least 8 of these things. I get up and grab a new battery and a ladder, then stand still to wait for the next beep so I can pinpoint the bad one. I think to myself as I stand there in my underwear, I should have grabbed earplugs, but I’m really too tired to worry about it. Finally finding the culprit I hastily remove the old battery and put in the new, but not before getting a deafening blast of real alarm in my ears, just in case I was hoping to get back to sleep.

If I ever want it to rain, all I have to do is pull the grill out. It’s like our version of a rain dance. Want to watch that last episode you recorded of your favorite show? It never fails here that the sound doesn’t match the voice or it failed to record all-together. Oven broken the day before Thanksgiving, gas fireplace shuts off by itself, etc., etc.

I’ve decided just to roll with it. I’ve since learned to always wear earplugs when dealing with fire alarms, imagine I’m watching an old kung-fu film when lips don’t match voice, buy a HoneyBaked Ham as a holiday backup, keep wood handy for real fires, and never expect things to go exactly as they should.

Now, I just need to figure out what my cat keeps looking at when it jumps out of my lap for no reason and stares at something neither I nor my wife can see. I guess we might need ghostbusters after-all.