Ghost

Up until last night I would have said that The Sixth Sense was a fantastic movie. Great concept, good actors (yes, I know Bruce Willis was in it), so on and so forth. Tangentially, I would have argued that sleeping in an old farm house in the country, listening to nothing but the bed bugs singing, not a porch light in sight, was wondrous too. Then I went to bed.

Not into pillow fights

Skip ahead about four hours. I’m curled up in my Superman onezy, sucking my thumb in the manliest way possible when all of a sudden I bolt upright frozen in fear. Burned into my retinas was a woman. No, she wasn’t wearing lingerie or in/around a pillow fight. She was more of the dead variety. Perhaps once she had participated in frisky fights involving pillows, but not recently in my opinion. Her piercing eyes froze my shaking frame in place. Although not present when I awoke, I knew, like a cold sore, she was laying in wait for an inopportune moment to spring forth.

Unfortunately for me I was faced with a conundrum: I really needed to relieve myself, but the toilet was foolishly installed in the adjacent room and not, more conveniently, next to my bed. I concluded I had two options. I could wake up my roommate, who after she stopped laughing would probably escort me to the bathroom, or I could muster up my nerves and go alone. I think I had been lying in bed a good 5 minutes before I decided for the latter. Still no thought could cross my mind while the image of this hunched over, white-haired ghost inhabited my very soul.

Next problem, my imagination. There is a mirror in the bathroom- damn. Now if I have learned anything from horror movies it’s that the person who looks at themselves in the mirror always gets axed. Needless to say I didn’t wash my hands that night (smart like a fox, I know). Then I realized my final dilemma, I was going to have to turn off the bathroom light leaving me utterly defenseless for a few seconds while I scurried back under my Minnie Mouse sheets. I’m the first to admit that my masculinity could have arguably been questioned on several occasions in my past; however, the speed at which I dashed from the bathroom to my own truly left no questions about what microscopic masculinity I have left.

So that’s it I guess. Country bakeries, star-filled nights, courteous drivers and sphincter-clenching ghosts. All for the sake of retail.