A lot of folks have been asking me about the latest goings-on in my haunted mansion (that is, the three-room apartment I live in). Sadly, there hasn't been a lot happening lately. The attic door has stayed disappointingly shut. The creator of the footsteps has been resting. Only one bizarre occurrence has happened lately.
I was standing in my gnome-sized kitchen washing the dishes. With Palmolive (completely irrelevant detail). In the midst of scrubbing Velveeta macaroni & cheese residue from a pot, I sensed someone standing behind me. Before I could turn around to see, I felt three taps on my left shoulder. Expecting to see Josh or Susan there, about to ask me a deep, meaningful question such as "Do you have any mayonnaise?" or "Can I borrow a lime?" I turned around, gathering my deepest intellect for the forthcoming inquiry. When I turned around, neither Josh nor Susan was there. Instead, nobody was there. Nothing! Well, not nothing; the fridge and the toaster oven were right where I had left them. The point is, there was no physical person there who might have tapped my shoulder. But I indeed felt it; the sensation was still fading from my shoulder where I had been tapped as I searched around looking for the tapper. As I turned back around to the dishes for the final rinse of the mac 'n' cheese pot, I said "Welcome back, Marty." But Marty must be pissed off that I keep calling him (her?) Marty because he (she?) has been making himself (herself?) scarce lately otherwise.
Ah, well, I'll keep you updated. Meantime, I need to go to the store for more macaroni & cheese. Yum.
9 years ago
