I was telling a few of my coworkers about our haunted Xbox, when one asked me the typical question:
“You don’t actually believe in ghosts, do you?”
“No one believes in ghosts during the daytime,” I told him.
Some general teasing ensued, because as people, we like to feel superior to our peers. Despite the taunts, I stood by my statement. No, I do not believe in ghosts. Not when everything around me is safe and reasonable. I’m still human, though, and if you put me in a situation where I’m less than comfortable, sure, maybe I’m going to irrationally fear a ghost, or Bloody Mary, or the One-Eyed-One-Horned-Flying-Purple-People-Eater. Our species couldn’t have evolved if we didn’t experience fear in less than ideal situations.
No. No, I do not believe in ghosts when things look like this:
But let’s say I wake up in sudden, unfamiliar darkness. Or the power goes out and I’m having a bad day. It might go a little something like this:
I feel no hypothetical shame. Besides, look how cute my ghost is. Who doesn’t want to think that guy exists?