A Little Bit of Groovy Blarney

If this isn't full of blarney, I don't know what is!

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Spring Invasion
by Sherry Grunder (groovyoldlady)

My husband kissed me good-bye, as usual, around 5:45am and then I drifted back to sleep. Suddenly, my room was bathed in a freakish greenish-yellow light and there was a queer whirring sound outside the sliding glass doors of my bedroom. I rose hurriedly and stepped to the door. I cautiously pulled a bit of the curtain aside with my trembling hand and peered out. There, right on top of my garden plot (smushing my rutabagas, no less) was this bizarre looking metallic machine of some sort. The queer light was emanating from it, pulsating like a fluorescent bulb that's about to die.

I stared at it in fascination. Had my Sweetie surprised me with a giant rototiller for our anniversary? (Please, oh Please!)

I was just about to open the door and step out to investigate when the whirring sound intensified and the top of the machine began to open. This was definitely NOT lawn equipment! Suddenly terrified, I ran to the girls' bedroom, grabbed one child under each arm and hauled them upstairs to the guest room. I gently laid their still sleeping forms on the futon and locked the door. Then, in a fit of motherly protectiveness, I pushed the bookshelf in front of the door and sat, panting and listening with all my might. I couldn’t hear anything. The house was silent.

It dawned on me that I should probably call the police, but both the phones were downstairs in the kitchen. Bummer! I would have gotten and loaded my rifle, but it was in the tippy top of our bedroom closet and I wasn’t exactly sure where the ammo was; I haven’t been hunting for the past six years. I prayed silently and kept listening. The girls kept sleeping.

Wait. What was that? I heard strange sounds underneath me in the kitchen. Was that my Kitchen-Aid running? It sure sounded like it! And who was going through my cupboards? I could hear the doors as they slammed shut. The fridge was opening and closing and I could hear the bleep of someone programming the microwave. This was too weird!

Cautiously and quietly, I slid the bookcase away from the door. I inched the door open and continued to listen carefully. There was definitely someone fooling around in my kitchen. My territorial instincts kicked in! I picked up a hefty textbook from my nearby office and silently crept down the stairs.

I crouched down low so that I could sneak past the bar in the kitchen without being seen. I was almost to the end of the bar when suddenly a horrible green creature of some sort leaped over the bar, knocked the book from my hand, and pinned me to the floor. I tried to scream and fight, but a second creature quickly joined the first and touched me with some sort of hand/paw-held device. Immediately I felt a strange, warm glowing sensation and I stopped thrashing. I was now their captive!

Within moments they succeeded in decoding the English language and made their wishes known to my mind. Appalled at their demands, I tried to dissuade them. I told them that I would take them with all speed to our powerful (and boneheaded) Governor Baldacci in Augusta and they could keep him for their evil purposes (no one here in Maine would miss him!), but they were not interested. Instead, they forced me to submit to their sick and perverse desires.

They coerced me into making doughnuts; Doughnuts made with white sugar and white flour. It was awful! Then they forced me to frost half of them with horribly rich chocolate frosting. The rest were filled with strawberry jam and then coated with (shudder) powdered sugar.

One of the creatures glided up the stairs and brought my precious daughters down. The girls seemed uncommonly cheerful and cooperative; I’m sure they were drugged! Then the worst thing of all happened - it’s so awful that I almost can’t type! They forced the girls to eat 2 doughnuts each. They shoved 2 chocolate pastries and one strawberry down my throat. Then they even had the nerve to take some next door to my in-laws!

Overcome by the absolute horror of the situation, I fainted. When I came to, the girls were running around the living room, screaming and giggling from the dreaded sugar high. The kitchen smelled of grease and sugar. Dirty dishes littered the counters. There were smears of flour and powdered sugar here and there. Crumbs covered the floor.

Unbelievably, there was also a platter of doughnuts still sitting on the bar. Apparently, the creatures had tasted them vicariously through us and their appetites were sated. At any rate, they were gone. One can only hope that they made haste to Augusta.

I am, of course tempted to throw those nasty doughnuts in the trash, but common sense tells me I should keep them as evidence...