How I Came to Discover That My House Is *secretly* HUGE
Secretly? Secretely? Secretley? No, it's definitely secretly, but no matter how I spell it today it looks wrong. Tangent - spelling is of no consequence. What is of literal and metaphorical great consequence is that my house is
secretly
huge.
This is a fairly new discovery for me. For the last year and a half I have been mystified about some happenings here in VA, but just a few short weeks ago the fog around my perception vanished and I became cognizant of the fact that not only is my house secretly huge, but that I am the only one who cannot see its massiveness. In short, the truth dawned upon me one day just after I had finished completely and totally cleaning the kitchen -- there seemed to be not a crumb in sight or a spoon out of place -- and then who should arrive nearly magically and entirely of its own volition but a plate! And did this plate walk right over to the sink and jump in as I thought it should? No. It planted itself on the kitchen table what seemed, to my mistaken vision, to be but 4 or 5 short feet from the sink. And as I stared, bewildered, in what was threatening to transform into indignant disbelief at the plate's sheer audacity, I was very suddenly struck with the realization that my house was secretly huge.
As you may have guessed by my dogmatic reiteration of the fact, I am still a little in shock over the revelation. Rather than try to convince you by mind numbing repetition, however, I will illustrate the facts.
I'm not suggesting that my house is this big:
Or that it is this big...
Or even this big!
Through careful mathematical calculations, I have come to know that my house, must, in fact, be THIS BIG:
...
Yes, that is the island of Maui.
And if only I knew where in my house to stand in order to see this...
And hey, why haven't I seen these guys walking around?
But I digress. You are, of course, wondering how I could come to believe that not only is my house secretly huge, but it is Maui in disguise. Let us therefore examine the facts.
1. Maui is an about 727 square miles - so we'll just round that up to 730.
2. It takes an average of two to three weeks for dishes in the basement to travel to the kitchen sink. If these dishes walk 20 miles a day (which seems reasonable, what else are they doing with their lives?) that means the kitchen is at the closest point 280 miles, and at the farthest point 380 miles, from the basement!
3. It can take one to two weeks for dishes to get from the upstairs to the kitchen sink. This means the upstairs is 140 miles away, in some locations, and an additional 130 miles away in others.
4. It can take the dishes up to four days to travel from the living room to the kitchen sink. This means the living room is approximately 80 miles away, give or take.
5. Add all of that up, and you have yourself about 730 square miles. Maui.
These are some seriously h-core hiking dishes.
Now, an interesting thing happens in the kitchen. Dishes pile up, but do not make any haste to enter the sink or the dishwasher. At first I thought this meant the kitchen was a sort of time-warp, for while it only takes 4 days for the dishes to travel the 80 miles from the living room to the kitchen, it can take upwards of a week for them to cross the maximum of 25 miles from the kitchen table/stove/counter into the sink. And this seems to me to be a long time. So I naturally concluded time-warp.
AND THEN. I saw it. We have an Alot Monster on our refrigerator facing the dishwasher and sink. Following several days of contemplating the stagnated mass of dishes along the counter (who were clearly refusing to come any closer to the sink or dishwasher), I began to understand that the Alot Monster is the natural predator of dirty dishes.
And therefore, when all this time I had thought they were stubbornly refusing to be cleaned, they were simply and tactically forming a line of defense and trying to stay alive.
If you need any further proof that my house is the size of Maui, just consider the cave-ins, waterfalls, woodland creatures, howling winds, tundra-like climates, and island-like climates we have experienced, not to mention that while the sun may be shining still on one end of the house, the other is plunged into blackness.
secretly
huge.
This is a fairly new discovery for me. For the last year and a half I have been mystified about some happenings here in VA, but just a few short weeks ago the fog around my perception vanished and I became cognizant of the fact that not only is my house secretly huge, but that I am the only one who cannot see its massiveness. In short, the truth dawned upon me one day just after I had finished completely and totally cleaning the kitchen -- there seemed to be not a crumb in sight or a spoon out of place -- and then who should arrive nearly magically and entirely of its own volition but a plate! And did this plate walk right over to the sink and jump in as I thought it should? No. It planted itself on the kitchen table what seemed, to my mistaken vision, to be but 4 or 5 short feet from the sink. And as I stared, bewildered, in what was threatening to transform into indignant disbelief at the plate's sheer audacity, I was very suddenly struck with the realization that my house was secretly huge.
As you may have guessed by my dogmatic reiteration of the fact, I am still a little in shock over the revelation. Rather than try to convince you by mind numbing repetition, however, I will illustrate the facts.
I'm not suggesting that my house is this big:
Or that it is this big...
Or even this big!
Through careful mathematical calculations, I have come to know that my house, must, in fact, be THIS BIG:
...
Yes, that is the island of Maui.
And if only I knew where in my house to stand in order to see this...
And hey, why haven't I seen these guys walking around?
 |
| "You are a devourer or dreams. You eat them. You're like a little Pac Man in cargo pants!" |
But I digress. You are, of course, wondering how I could come to believe that not only is my house secretly huge, but it is Maui in disguise. Let us therefore examine the facts.
1. Maui is an about 727 square miles - so we'll just round that up to 730.
2. It takes an average of two to three weeks for dishes in the basement to travel to the kitchen sink. If these dishes walk 20 miles a day (which seems reasonable, what else are they doing with their lives?) that means the kitchen is at the closest point 280 miles, and at the farthest point 380 miles, from the basement!
3. It can take one to two weeks for dishes to get from the upstairs to the kitchen sink. This means the upstairs is 140 miles away, in some locations, and an additional 130 miles away in others.
4. It can take the dishes up to four days to travel from the living room to the kitchen sink. This means the living room is approximately 80 miles away, give or take.
5. Add all of that up, and you have yourself about 730 square miles. Maui.
These are some seriously h-core hiking dishes.
Now, an interesting thing happens in the kitchen. Dishes pile up, but do not make any haste to enter the sink or the dishwasher. At first I thought this meant the kitchen was a sort of time-warp, for while it only takes 4 days for the dishes to travel the 80 miles from the living room to the kitchen, it can take upwards of a week for them to cross the maximum of 25 miles from the kitchen table/stove/counter into the sink. And this seems to me to be a long time. So I naturally concluded time-warp.
AND THEN. I saw it. We have an Alot Monster on our refrigerator facing the dishwasher and sink. Following several days of contemplating the stagnated mass of dishes along the counter (who were clearly refusing to come any closer to the sink or dishwasher), I began to understand that the Alot Monster is the natural predator of dirty dishes.
And therefore, when all this time I had thought they were stubbornly refusing to be cleaned, they were simply and tactically forming a line of defense and trying to stay alive.
If you need any further proof that my house is the size of Maui, just consider the cave-ins, waterfalls, woodland creatures, howling winds, tundra-like climates, and island-like climates we have experienced, not to mention that while the sun may be shining still on one end of the house, the other is plunged into blackness.
I...love you.
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