Good evening and a very warm welcome.

 Tonight my story is entitled:

Possessed

 I know she is here.  I can't see her but I can definitely sense her presence.  She could be hiding behind that door over there or maybe concealing herself in the wardrobe upstairs?  For all I know she may even be hiding in the attic, patiently biding her time to strike again.

 When she does make her presence known I lose all control over what she makes me do.  Sometimes she can be teasingly playful but other times she can be so vindictive and spiteful.  When she is around, havoc and chaos are sure to follow.

 Last week alone she had me throw the casserole dinner in the washing machine whilst there stood I wondering why I was trying to stuff the laundry into the oven.  The kitchen is most assuredly her favourite taunting ground, so much so that there have been occasions when I have resorted to hanging bunches of garlic around the room in an effort to ward off her presence.  It never works though.  She turns up like a bad penny or a pimple on your nose when you least want it.

 She likes to see things broken, especially if they happen to contain liquid or food.  I mean where is the fun in having me drop a container or letting slip a pot if there is nothing in it? 

 One thing is for sure; she doesn't like to see me with anything new and goes all out to spoil it for me whichever way she can.  I'm talking about my new kitchen flooring now.  You now what its like when you get something new.  You glow inside, you admire it and you promise yourself to look after it.  Well flooring is flooring but I glowed inside and I wanted to look after it, after all, these things do cost money.  Not her though, such things mean nothing to her.  She even waited until I had sharpened the carving knife to razor edge precision before she had me drop it onto the new flooring, right bang in the middle where the damage could never be disguised.

 I proceed with extreme caution whenever there is any emulsion work to be done about the place.  How she loves paint.  Nothing pleases her more than to have me step into that paint tray lying on the floor.  It's the hop, skip and tumble towards the sink that tickles her fancy.  She will see you make a real fool of yourself before she lets you get anywhere near a mop and bucket.

 The list of catastrophes is endless really, just like her imagination.  I could talk about the scorch marks from the iron which was mysteriously left face down on the work top whilst still switched on or how the dual microwave melted the plastic bowl because somebody chose the wrong setting.  I can't own up to being responsible for any of these things for I wouldn't make such silly mistakes like that ... would I??  It's got to be her!

 On a bad day I can have the electric kettle blow up, the washing machine spring a leak or trap my fingers in the door whilst trying to close it. The Roman blinds have started to do a bit of roaming of their own at the moment and I swear to this day I am not responsible for putting tea in the coffee percolator.  She also showed me how to make instant toffee, not that I would ever be inclined to make any, of my own free will.  Quite simple really.  Just ensure your ceramic hob is turn full on and then drop a pound of sugar onto it.  Without a doubt, when she's around, she's definitely got it in for me!

 It's quite rude really to keep calling this evasive, minx of a person 'she' or 'her'.  Maybe if I gave her a proper name she may soften and take a little pity on me ... do you think? 

 I shall name her Infamy so that in times when she taxes me to the limit, I will call out to her,  

 "Infamy, Infamy, why have you got it in for me?"

Thank you for listening to my story.  Goodnight

© Rebecca Rowan 2007