When a car is backing up, and the little video screen on that car’s dashboard streams footage of whatever is behind the car, I like to believe that the screen is showing a new TV show called “WATCH OUT!!!”
When I Skype, I always believe that whoever I’m Skyping with is actually onboard a Soviet space station.
When I sit in a massage chair, I sincerely believe that there are elves imprisoned in the chair, rubbing my lower back, and that someday, either the elves will organize and demand at least a salary, or that the chair will stop working and I’ll rip it open with a boxcutter and find hundreds of tiny elf bodies, dead in a suicide pact.
When chalk grafitti covered the facade of a recently gut-renovated, zillion-dollar brownstone, I decided that the grafitti was actually a feng shui project on behalf of the new owners. The terrifying thing about this delusion is – I may be right.
I believe that mosquitos and spiders take a profound personal delight in biting human beings, and brag about it.
