Rough week.

Day 1: Sunday
7pm: Home from Massachusetts. Notice new air freshener in bathroom. Hmm. Upon using facilities, learn that new air freshener is motion-activated. Learn this while trapped, for lack of more delicate terminology. Also learn that “Clean Linen” scent not so much like clean linen. Gag.
9pm: Forget about new air freshener. Unpack. Put toothbrush away, hear hissing/popping noise. Jump because noise is scary. Senses once again assaulted by heavily air-quoted clean linen. Gag.
11:30: Prepare for bed. Remember motion will activate demon’s breath hissing machine. Dance around and then jump out of bathroom. Nothing. Wait. Nothing. Determine room to be safe. Proceed with contact lens and makeup removal. While face is in under-sink cupboard searching for cotton ball, hear much-feared noise heralding arrival of a “fresher” room. Scream and try to escape from room, running into cupboard door. This results in a cut and bruise combo which will surely be a painful reminder of stupidity. Hear laughter emanating from basement. Resolve to punch sister in face.

Day 2: Monday
Try to ignore feeling that air freshener has personal vendetta. Rely heavily on new method of dance in front of air freshener, flee from room, and wait 5 minutes. Adjust to going in bathroom before it becomes a necessity. Expect arrival of nicer, non-punched sister, put on makeup. Hear car. Look out bathroom window. Hear hissing noise as face is pressed to glass. Face now fresh like Clean Linen. Gag. Gag again. Hope chemicals do not result in permanent damage. Truly feel that air freshener has it out for me.

Day 3: Tuesday
Figure out system of lights on device. Blinking will result in hissing and air pollution. No blinking is safe, but for unknown amount of time. Learn from sister that device will only go off every 30 minutes. File information away. Spend remainder of day using bathroom only after another person has set off tiny hellion.

Day 4: Wednesday
Discuss hissing box with mother. Matriarch insists she has never seen it hiss. Stand outside bathroom door and listen for her reaction. Feel vaguely creepy, but all in the name of research. (Research and proving that tiny demon box hates me. See no difference.) Hear nothing. Confused. Wait for mother. Barge in upon seeing open door. Nothing. Dance around. Nothing. Hmm. Mother bored, exits. TINY BOX HISSES. BOX HATES ME. Gag.