Now that we moved out of our most recent apartment, I can talk about the pantry. It was kind of totally haunted. I could not get into the matter while I was still living in Apartment D6, because I can freak myself out by thinking about creepy things. There was one time I casually mentioned my sense of a Pantry Ghost to Husband, testing the waters to see what he thought, by saying
Me: So I think our apartment is haunted.
Husband: [big eyes] Yeah, so do I!
Me: What? You’re supposed to deny it. [which is true. He is typical rational when I fly off the handle, but in this case, he actually assisted me off the deep end.]
Husband: It sometimes sounds like there’s someone in the other room but no one else is home but me.
Me: WHAT? Stop talking about this with me. Like right away! Like ten minutes ago! I can’t sleep knowing this!
Husband: But you started it! And the pantry gives me a weird vibe.
Truly, it was a creepy pantry. We had one of our home accidents in it (Twin Son got his finger caught in the door and we had to frantically, incompetently run him to the ER. Seriously, Husband and i are sometimes like the thousand clowns that run out of a Volkswagon Beetle. I don’t understand how we’re actually allowed to have kids some moments.)
And I am like a spiritual atheist, and yet, I shouldn’t even write this post because even though we don’t live there any more, I just gave myself the willies.
Ugh. Alright, good luck to me trying to sleep to night.