A few days ago, I put my beloved water bottle up to my lips to take a refreshing sip when I was met with little murmurings of high-pitched voices. One could say in that moment, I assumed the role of Horton in “Horton Hears a Who!” who was ostracized for believing in a microscopic community he found on a tiny speck of dust. Like Horton, no one seems to believe that the collection of mold in my water bottle has gained consciousness and claimed me as their leader.

At first, whenever I saw an inkling of mold forming on my water bottle, I would immediately wash it away. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about how lonely my water bottle must be, sitting alone all day long in my backpack, filled to the brim because I don’t believe in hydration, and I couldn’t stand to take away its only friends. I never would have thought that letting my water bottle have companions would lead to my own cult following.

To put it simply, they love me. When I get dressed in the morning and ask them how my outfit looks, you can practically hear the mold screaming from a full 3 inches away from the water bottle. That’s how loudly they gas me up.

But I fear their allegiance may be too strong. And perhaps, too violent. Once, I mentioned a girl who was slightly bothering me in one of my classes, and they immediately hired some of their other friends to burrow into her dorm room walls. She was out sick with mold poisoning for a whole week!

While I, of course, love unconditional devotion even at the cost of others’ well-beings, I think it might be time for me to give my water bottle a good scrub. I just hope the mold doesn’t come back even stronger…