The setting: 6:30 this morning, in my bed. (Sorry kids, it's not
THAT kind of story.)
I'm in a deep sleep, dreaming of unicorns, cupcakes and Paul Wesley. Next thing I know, there is a loud crashing noise...in my shower. Let me remind those who are new or have forgotten because they don't really love me, I live alone.
(Kidding, I totally know you love me. I have to embellish these little details because heaven knows I can't get by on just my charm alone.)
My cat hasn't made his way back to my humble abode because, well I don't have an extra $500 for the pet deposit nor do I have the desire to clean his littler box like he demands, so I know something is about to get terribly terrifying. I tiptoe my way down the hall, because ghosts totally can't hear tiptoeing, and flick on the bathroom light. I'm surprised I didn't leave a puddle on the floor underneath me, because let's remember it's 6 in the morning and I haven't peed yet, when I saw the shower curtain moving. Like flowing in the wind moving. An inanimate object with no other reason than someone...or something...moving it. I can't really tell you what compelled me to move the curtain to the side to seek out the source of this noise. Other than fear for my life and the my undying urge to kick some ghost ass.
This is probably where I should tell everyone I made the genius move of watching Cold Case Files before bed last night while consuming 3/4 of a bottle of the cheapest wine available for purchase at Wal Mart. Probably not at the top of my list entitled "Good ideas," but I digress. Oh and I should also probably tell you that my mind works in overtime even when overtime has packed it's bags and headed home.
So after safely pulling the shower curtain back, I was met with my large bottle of shampoo that had somehow jumped off the edge of the tub. Sure it was practically empty and turned upside down as to allow me to maximize every last drop of this $30 bottle of shampoo (and I'll remind myself again why I can't afford that $500 pet deposit), but I refuse to believe this was the culprit, for the reason I shall share with you next.
Fast forward to 7:15 when it's time for me to drag my ass back out of bed and shower. Sure, I enjoy cold showers as much as the next guy, but not when it's 65 degrees in my bathroom and I'm already naked, standing in the stream water that may have well have just come straight from Antarctica for all I know.
Of course my wine and codeine cocktail might have led me to sleep walk into the bathroom and turn the facet, but I'm hardly limber when sober so the chances of actually remembering my own name at 6 in the morning are slightly better than this actually happening.
I don't mind living with a ghost really. They're generally pretty quiet (with today as an exception) and pick up after themselves so it's like having a roommate, but not really. The only thing I ask is that he, or she because I'm an equal opportunity ghost lover, kick down for some bills and do a few dishes every now and then. Is that too much to ask of a ghost that enjoys cold showers and wasting my shampoo?