Myrtle, the Obnoxious Ghost Roommate: A Quiet Sunday Afternoon
When you have a ghost, 'quiet' is a misnomer
Apparently, Myrtle doesn’t like my choice of TV show. I couldn’t keep up with Game of Thrones when it was on, so I decided to binge some shows on a low-key Sunday afternoon. But Myrtle is not a fan. To show me her disapproval, she would skip to scenes in future episodes where important characters die. I couldn’t change it back, and the TV wouldn’t turn off.
My options were to leave or close my eyes and stick my fingers in my ears. I chose to leave the room and settle onto my bed for a read. From somewhere, I assume the deepest bowels of hell, Myrtle found episodes of The Lawrence Welk Show. Lively polkas blasted through the house on repeat.
I laid on my bed for a while, listening to polkas and debating an extreme solution. My foot began to dance at the end of my leg in 2/4 time. Not okay. I got out of bed, walked through the kitchen to the mudroom, and flipped the main breaker. There was silence. A win for the moment. The sun was still up, so I could see, but it would slip behind the houses in another hour, and I’d be in the dark.
“Myrtle, please just let me watch some TV,” I asked in a voice that put a calm veneer over my anger.
I waited a few quiet minutes and flipped the breaker. The lights came up, and I heard the refrigerator’s compressor clicked on. No polkas.
The TV chimed, and the screen lit up to a familiar episode of Supernatural. At least it was season four.