They get into my house like cockroaches. No matter how tidy I try to keep it. No matter how well I try to seal the cracks. I glance over, and there one is, antennae waving wildly at me: "My boyfriend hasn't called recently. Something's wrong." Just like that, I'm utterly convinced.
And when there's one, there is soon a swarm: "He's lost interest." "He's cheating on me." "He's having 2-on-1 with a pair of identical twin Vogue models and planning to move to Paris for a year." Soon I'm scrambling for evidence to prove it's not true. But all I come up with, seems to support it. "THAT's why he was flipping through Vogue magazine in the grocery store last week!" It's an infestation. I am swatting wildly, but now the walls have begun to move.
Now, I can't be the only one. I'm pretty sure it happens to my mother all the time. I can tell, when she comes out with those bizarre admonishments, like "Don't ever go to the mall by yourself. You'll get kidnapped." Or questions like, "Why are your pupils so dialated??" She's got them. Demons crawling all over her walls.
I turn to my friends for help. "Ronda, I think my skin is starting to wrinkle." After a long, squinty look, she replies, "Yes, you may be right. Do you think I'm getting fat?" Not what I needed to hear. I suspect Ronda has demons of her own.
So my guess is, it happens to a lot of people. And since we are so poorly equipped to exorcise ourselves or each other, I've come up with a treatment that can be applied in the comfort of your own home, when the first little demon peeks its head out of the woodwork: Hobgoblin Hotels. Like those little plastic things for roaches. Lay these down in all your dark closet corners, behind all your cosmic furniture. The demons crawl into the trap, and they never come out.
Care to test it out? Put your most evilest demon into this baby, and watch what happens: