You might be like me—not a complete loser, but kids atschool target you for things like your raspy voice andpimply skin, which, by the way, can’t be cured withmedication or a little nip and tuck. When I thought myfreaky life couldn’t get any worse, it did. My DNA giftedme with another characteristic I can’t undo—seeingghosts. And, yes, it
genetic. My Aunt Geneva, known farand wide for being weird, not only sees them, she’sapparently having a
with one.The good news is . . . there is no good news. Ha ha.Seriously, though, I’ve heard some freaks like me grow upto lead a happy life without lasting scars. At least that’swhat my dad always tells me, and I keep hoping he’s right.He
he grew out of his teenage geekiness, which hedid, but unfortunately his genes matured him into analmost as gooberish adult. Come to think of it, I’m not surehe’s the best example to offer you. Sorry.Anyway, I’m going to tell you about some of my otheradventures with haints, which is Southern-talk for ghosts.For the record, I do not get off on being a ghost handler.If you have the same kind of problem as me, you may wantto check out my blog atwww.maureenhardegree.com/heathersblog.Yeah, Maureen lets me blog on her website. What can Isay? She likes my weirdness. Maybe you will, too. Becauselike me, you know they’re out there. Ghosts, I mean. Tellme about it.