I’m convinced we have a Brownie problem. And we’ve angered him.
Yep. We have an angry Boggart running around our house. I haven’t seen him yet — he does a good job of staying hidden. I want to give him a name, but I’ve heard that is very bad. Never give your Boggart a name or it will get uncontrollable. Personally, I think our darling fae is uncontrollable, anyway.
It started with the earphones, ages ago. They used to be left at the electric piano with the special headphone adapter plug, so we could practise while Mr. X had naps. Do you think I can locate those slippery little things? Nooo. The Brownie took them. I think he was still a Brownie back then… before he turned Boggart.
And then there’s the grapes. Mum will buy a collander of grapes. By the end of the day, they’re gone. All of them. Okay. We have a Brownie that likes grapes and doesn’t like loud noises.
Then…my MP3 player. It keeps disappearing. And then I find it again. Disappear, find it, disappear, find it. Never with the headphones attatched. Suspicious, eh? So instead of using them as earplugs, the Brownie is using them as the earphones they really are, plugged into my MP3 player, just for a short time, before returning it, later, somewhere I really didn’t put it.
The plot thickens. It turned into a Boggart on Australia Day and stole my band music. It hasn’t returned it. I did not leave it at band or the conservatorium. We phoned both. So we rushed around madly searching everywhere for the elusive folder, running late, of course. We didn’t find it. Someone needs to appease this Boggart. I mean. It’s a musical creature, I’m sure. It has probably wall papered its house with my band music.
And socks! It steals my socks. But only the left ones. What’s with that?
And pens! Clearly it likes to write on that band music. But never buy an expensive pen. They’ll last for… one… two… three days if you’re lucky. Then BAM! The pen is gone!
And toothpaste. It uses up all the toothpaste. We have a Boggart that cleans its teeth. Go figure. And when I’m home by myself, I can hear him, rattling the blinds and crawling around up there, reminding me I’m not alone. And creeping me out in the process.
So, more or less, our hygeinic Boggart loves grapes, music, and pens. He lives in a home made of band music and socks. Welcome, Boggart. The Notebook Sisters, at your service.