I live in this big, ol' house by my onesies until the rest of the guys get back after the break. Seeing as it is just me, and as I've got the whole kitchen to myself, my washing doesn't get done everyday. It takes a few days in between, just to let it pile up a bit. Seems a waste to fill up a whole sink for a plate or two, a fork and possibly a knife. Now, as I went to bed this rainy and windy night, listening to the wind screaming and howling (not kidding you!) and the house creak ominously as the ghosts haunting this place walked about in the darkest hours, I thought I'd do the dishes tomorrow. They needed to be done, and tomorrow seemed like a good day to do them. Random, I know, but it was either that whether or not the Old Man ghost would get me before the werewolves tried to (werewolves, Old Man seems like stupid fella. And I was actually done contemplating that, and needed something to fill my time with between being bored and falling asleep). So, fell asleep, and woke up in the morning to a bright new day (really quite old by then. It was about two hours after noon). Now, being the duty-bound, responsible adult I am (and also lacking any utensil to eat my breakfast from) I went to do the dishes. An lo! everything was done. We're not talking me having done the dishes and forgot about it done, we're talking spotless, perfectionist done. Not a surface had a spot on it, anything that could possibly shine tried to blend me, not a single glass or plate or fork was left to do. But not only the dishes were done, oh no. When I opened the microwave, after offering up a small thanks to whoever did this and having picked my jaw and sunglasses up, I found that it was spotless. Hygienically cleansed of all possible germs. And all the tea-towels were hung up to dry, everything was neatly ordered, even my two remaining Snickers bars were taken out of the bag and put neatly on a shelf. I will admit, I was stunned. Blown away in disbelief. Then, well, I'm a lad. Hunger kicked in, and I got my breakfast. It is now my belief that we have occasional brownies in the house. I guess they do this every few months when they suspect the house is empty. So, brownies, if you are reading this: Thank you, and you're welcome to stick around here.
Oh, also, they day before, when I had been locked up in my room playing guitar, my housemate and his mom came down here. I'm not complaining when that happens, my housemates' moms usually help clean this place. But faced between mom and brownie, I say it was brownies this time.
For scientific comparison. If seen, do not pursue. At all costs.
