I'm not chilled about a lot of things. Like tax returns, snakes and infidelity. But I can handle the dark. When the load shedding frequently sheds it's darkness upon my flat, even when I'm in the bath, it's chilled. I know the ghost [might be] there, but I'm ok with sitting complete darkness.
My boyfriend. On the other hand.
He knows about the ghost – on non-ghost, or whatever it is I believe that lurks around my apartment, and he simply loves the idea.
Not. The night before last, after watching a ghost hunting documentary on Reality Channel (Reality Channel is officially endorsed by Sobriety Club (Pty) Ltd.), he went for a shower. Only to run to the towel cupboard, whack one around his waist, and come trotting back into the lounge.
“I thought you were showering?”
“Well, yeah...I just thought I'd sit here for a little while.”
Peas: Why you sitting on the arm of the couch almost on top of me?”
“Ag, just chilling.”
Peas: You're naked. Barring the towel.
“Yeah, so, do you want to come talk to me while I'm in the shower?”
Peas: You're scared aren't you.
Peas: Yes you are.
"Well, maybe a little.”
Followed him to the shower, and read him his star sign out loud while he scrubbed himself behind the shower curtain.
He'd switched on every single light in my flat. Including the back porch area and my flatmate's bedroom. He was shitting himself. So I turned all the lights off, including the one in the bathroom, just to guage his reaction.
FUCK!!! NO! PEAS! STOP IT MAN, TURN IT BACK ON!” (Cue strange howling noises, fused with high-pitched screeching). I then threw open the curtain and whispered, “Boo.”
The man but almost went right through the ceiling above him. At his expense, sure, it was amusing. But at the same time, it's also good to see men reveal a vulnerable side to themselves.
Mr 747 is afraid of the dark.
Bless, bless, bless.