Be not alarmed, but we have been Pammed.
I noticed it as soon as I walked through the door. Things were not where they had been left only a few hours before. Shoes all on the shoe rack (the clue is in the title, yet still the concept is not grasped), floors clear of fluff-monsters, sinks swiped of bacterial colonies, cushions plumped and in order (a like-minded soul in that respect, and one to whom I am eternally, though to many incomprehensibly, grateful), and the air heavy with the nostril-stripping scent of disinfectant and chemicals. Cleanliness truly is next to godliness. It must be said that Pam does have a certain celestial air to her, resonating halo-like as she sprays and scrubs. Though that could just be the layers of dust being dislodged and sparkling in the sunlight, creating a transcendental aura about her person.
Why, why, why would you put the whistling lid of the kettle in a ladel? And why keep the soap on top of the nail scrubbing brush? And why store all the biscuit tins in a toppling tower formation? And what, may I ask you, is with the endless plastic boxes on every surface to store things in, multiplying in number on every visit?
It is our house, but not as we know it. A parallel Kirk household where everything is very slightly different. A house that is slowly being infiltrated with Pamisms. Soon, no doubt, she will control us all, without us even realising it has happened. As innocent and amiable as Pam and her quiche eating ways may seem, I am sure some foul plot is afoot.
But fear not. I'm on to her. Just as she uses her cunning and subtle ways, so do I in returning things to how they were. It is a battle to be played out over time, the ball shifting from court to court as mind games and manipulations are scuppered. Ingleside will not be Pammified as long as I defend it.