Ghosts are staring at your privates

And how I tried to talk to my dead granny

We are not alone on this planet. And I’m not talking about the little green men with the big eyes who want to finger your anus. I’m talking about ghosts. Apparently, they’re everywhere, all around us, all around you, yes…you.

So, the next time you’re putting a tampon in (pre-menopausal women), or sliding your testicles (men) back and forth on a cold surface, remember that old uncle Tom who has been dead for ten years might have his face two inches from your nether regions.

“I’m watching you play with your ding-dong.” (Unsplash)

I learned about the presence of ghosts from a podcast I listened to recently. A woman, a medium, said that we are never, ever without a ghost or two in our company. Now, I can’t say I’m pleased with this, but mostly I just feel sorry for the poor ghosts that have to follow me around. If yesterday was anything to go by, they would have seen me:

• Stare into space for a long time
• Try to smooth the frizz from my hair
• Separate lots of underpants from trousers
• Look for my Bluetooth headphones
• Text Southside Dublin Dad to ask him to get milk
• Shop online for metallic trousers but never actually buy them
• Do loads of mundane crap with the kids (love them, feed them, blah blah blah)
• Text Southside Dublin Dad to remind him about the milk

“Don’t forget the fucking milk” (Unsplash)

But something interesting did happen to me this week, something ghostly. Because I’m always up for a challenge involving dead people, I did what the medium suggested. She said that to channel a dead person, all you’ve to do is grab something that they used to own and hold it with your eyes closed. You should eventually feel the presence of the owner or see a flash in your mind’s eye that tells you something about them.

I grabbed the old necklace that belonged to my grandmother, placed it in my hand and closed my eyes, waiting for some image of her or a message from her to be broadcast into my mind’s eye. But instead, I felt the distinct awakening of sexual arousal. Horrified at myself, I opened my eyes, threw the necklace on the floor and backed away from it. What was happening? Why was my dead grandmother’s necklace turning me on?

Look away (Unsplash)

My mind ran through all the obvious explanations until finally I concluded that it must have belonged to a man, a randy old lad, before my granny. I’d clearly dialed him instead and he was sending me sexual vibes through the necklace from the grave. It was an honest mistake but in the interest of keeping my marriage monogamous, I hid the necklace away in a place where its sexual prowess couldn’t reach me. The relief!

So, now, It’s back to my boring life and being watched, in a hopefully non-sexual way, by ghosts and worrying about whether Southside Dublin Dad will get the milk or not.