ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Wednesday, April 10, 1996 TAG: 9604100012
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: Ben Beagle
SOURCE: BEN BEAGLE
Anybody who has ever been anywhere near suburbia knows about those beings that live in the basement or the closet - things that come out at night and steal your favorite sweatshirt out of the dryer and you never hear from it again.
Or things that abduct one of the pair of argyle socks your grandsons gave you for Christmas and you lie awake nights wondering if it's still alive somewhere.
These things are inevitable. Like wire grass. And they're normal.
Show me a guy who hasn't lost a sock or two to one of these things and I'll show you a smarter guy who lives in an apartment, sends his laundry out and doesn't give wire grass a thought.
We now have a new unspeakable force loose in our house.
I'm not talking about the presence that makes the eggs skitter to opposite sides of the skillet - which eggs didn't do when I was a boy and which makes it hard to over-light them when they're jammed up like that.
This probably is not supernatural at all. I think it has something to do with an obscure geological fault somewhere under the house. I don't think it has anything to do with the stuff they sprayed on the wood borers last spring.
Anyway, this latest visitation is stealing those little face towels - the kind that barbarians like me throw down by the tub when we shower because we think those fuzzy bathmats are for sissies.
I went for days without seeing a face towel. I got tired of stepping out of the tub and leaving dangerous puddles on the floor.
I inquired discreetly and was asked if I didn't have something better to do than worry about face towels.
And I said that if that's the way it is, that's the way it is; just don't come crying to me when I get out of the shower and slip and you have to call 911.
A hard life has made me very inventive, however, and pretty soon I was throwing full-sized towels on the floor. You're talking about Old Mr. Adaptable here.
Then suddenly one morning, when a somber, cold rain was blowing against the windows, the little towels appeared again.
I'm being toyed with. I need one of those short, stout ladies with the big glasses, like the one in ``Poltergeist."
I've been very close-mouthed. I haven't asked why the towels are turning up again on the same old shelf.
Sure. I wanted to come down some morning and say: "They're baaaaccck!"
No way, pal. I'd have to prove they were ever gone.
LENGTH: Medium: 54 linesby CNB