My Domestic Monster

He waits to attack until the night before I have to, with blurry eyes and caffeine deprived brain, sign my children's progress reports; which, naturally, they've had in their backpacks for three days but wait until the bus is at the corner to get them signed. So this is when he eats all my pens, pencil tips and erasers, leaving me with a kitchen junk drawer full of a couple pen caps, leadless and eraserless pencils, dried out Sharpie markers and a half eaten crayon. Thanks to my Domestic Monster, my kids are the only two high schoolers in the county who turn in progress reports signed in Burnt Sienna.

When my Domestic Monster visits our pantry, he'll eat an entire sleeve of fig newtons then slide the empty tray back into the package. He thinks leaving empty sugar bomb cereal and microwave popcorn boxes on the shelves is pretty entertaining too. When my chocolate carvings reach epic proportions (cold sweat, hand tremors and slurred speech), I find nothing entertaining about Domestic Monster discovering my secret emergency Butterfinger stash under the 22 pound bag of dog food. He mocks me further by leaving the wrapper on the floor next to his cousin, an industrial sized Domestic Dust Bunny.

And the refrigerator? How he makes the shelves crusty after I scrubbed them the day before is beyond me. He probably snickers with evil glee when he shoves jars to the lowest, farthest, deepest darkest corners of the frig where they remain hidden to rot undiscovered to the extent FEMA has to be called in when they're discovered.

My Monster's favorite garage trick is to leave a half eaten apple under the seat of my car. In hot weather. For 2 months. He also likes to make bicycles fall over and tools jump onto the cars. He invites over the neighbors' muddy pawed cats for dance parties on our windshields.

Why must he be a mean-spirited monster? Why can't I have a fun one who leaves piping hot casseroles on my front porch five minutes before I hear, "I'm starving! What's for dinner?" Or a thoughtful Domestic Monster who switches the laundry from the washer to the dryer before it mildews?

I know for a fact he already has a thing for socks since he leaves dirty pairs all over and under the couch, on the kitchen counters, patio and desk So why wouldn't my Monster use his obviously sleepless, highly active nights to sort through my three overflowing paper grocery bags of Socks Without Partners and sort them back into happily reunited pairs?

The least he could do is convince my dog to stop peeing on the new carpet? Couldn't he?