Ground Control To Major Crazy

We're all familiar with the book title, "Men are from Mars, Women Are From Venus," right? Women evidently emotionally land on Venus at some point in their lives, but as teenage girls I have learned they travel to a planet that is not shown by any styrofoam ball display at the school science fair. It's called Planet Crazy Person, or PCP, as in the hallucinogenic drug.

My lovely wife Joy and I currently have two residents of PCP visiting with us. Although they look like normal, sane inhabitants of Earth, their actions, words and delusions are evidence of their other-worldly origins. As proof, may I offer an example of their inability to comprehend normal conversation, or their outright hostility to what you and I might consider a genial question. The other morning I asked the eldest alien, who in Earth years is 15, what she wanted for breakfast. Her response: "I don't eat breakfast." Considering the fact that just the morning before she consumed 80% of the available food at Denny's, I thought I had misunderstood her. "You're not hungry this morning?," I asked with a caring, loving lilt to my voice. "Dad! I don't eat breakfast, you know that. I'm not hungry until sometime after lunch, plus I'm cramping, and I need to go to the mall because I have nothing to wear, and we never have any food in this house, and I can't believe you're making me go to that thing next summer, and yes, I AM going to fail my open book health test today, so stop asking me about it!" I can tell you from experience that if I had spoken to my Venusian wife that way, the castration team would be notified immediately and our house would serve as the antithesis to the theory of global warming. Yet, those populating PCP seem to find this incoherent babble as normal, for just 10 minutes later I'm asked, "So, what's for breakfast? I'm starving!"

In viral fashion this behavior is passed from the elder alien to the youngest. While her mouth hasn't yet learned the fluidity of insanity so perfected by the pack leader, her distortion of baths, showers and appearance of hair more than make up for that deficiency. At 9:15 on a night prior to school, the youngling decides that a shower must be taken to prepare the hair for the ordeal of the morning. By 6:45 the next morning, the effects of the evening shower have evidently faded, as another shower commences. By 7:35 more water is heard pouring forth, this time in tub-form, as at 7:34 it was decided that legs needed shaving, something that supposedly wasn't possible during the combined previous 60 minutes of showering. As water tables lower and aquifers dry, it has become apparent to astronomers that water is the most plentiful item on PCP since it is used without regard on Earth.

The good news is, due to eons of dealing with these visitors (those of the cloth tend to refer to them as "the possessed), parents have devised remedies, or at least calming treatments, for the creatures. Aggressive therapies involve signing parental consent forms to enlist in the Armed Forces at age 17. Some emotional mothers have a difficult time with this option and have come up with something gentler, yet far more expensive. It basically means giving them what they want, as you would a horrid beast who is demanding tribute so that you may pass. As Joy says, "they have wild emotions whose only salve is the sheen of a credit card."

Aside from government-like spending or dispatching them to Paris Island, advice and words of hope may help those of you who have found yourselves outmatched in your own home. Time is their enemy. If you can simply wait them out until they're 18, two things will happen. They'll either move to Venus, or move out. Meanwhile, may we suggest a membership to a wine club?