Not all Blondes do Backflips

9 - I Feel Fine

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Listen to I Feel Fine by The Beatles or any cheesy pop song of your choice.

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9 – I Feel Fine

   

Let's play a game.

What did I, also known as the-bıtch-the-universe-has-been-shıtting-on-for-the-entire-night, do to Elena McDermott, also known as the-soon-to-be-an-actual-ghost-after-I-kill-her-Ghost-Girl?

A – Poked Elena's eyes out with a rusty knife and fed them to her

B – Covered Elena in chocolate syrup then let a million fire ants loose on her

C – Burnt Elena at the stake, in the middle of the town square, for the witch that she was

D – Hacked off all of Elena's limbs and fed them to rabid dogs while she watched

The answer?

None of the above.

Here's what I actually did to Ghost Girl: Abso-fυcking-lutely nothing

Before you start bıtching about trick questions – life's full of them, get over it – and my second almost-murder of the night, I have my reasons – or reason, if you want to be nitpicky.

In the few milliseconds it took for me to mutter a single curse word, Ghost Girl had sprinted down the second floor hallway.

I'm not really the religious type – not unless you count a devotion to awesome music as a religion – but I found myself praying that she would somehow trip down the stairs and at least break her neck.

Too bad God isn't really a fan of murder.

That or only the good died young was a real thing and the only thing good about Ghost Girl was that she was good – brilliant even – at being a pain in my αss.

Then again, who am I talk? I'm not exactly the poster child for peace, love and good will to all.

Thankfully, Finn and I gathered what brain cells we had between us and ran after her; but she was already flying out the front door by the time we reached the bottom of the staircase.

Forget being queen of the math geeks. Ghost Girl would have owned the track team. Her ability to run like the wind – Toy Story's Bullseye – coupled with looking like someone who'd just walked off the set of The Ring would have made her a shoe in for first place at any track meet. She'd scare the jockstraps and sports bras off her competition.

I dived right into the teenage mosh pit that separated us and Ghost Girl, tore the phone away from her pasty hands, ripping her arm out of its sockets in the process.

If you believed that last one, you should probably call a doctor because you might just be suffering from short term memory loss. That or a lethal case of stupidity.

For your case – and the future of humanity's – I hope it's the memory loss.

To be clear – and because some people aren't capable of reading between the lines – the reason why I didn't go after Ghost Girl was my undiagnosed mysophobia.