In many ways I liken my life to a movie. Most of the time, I’m the hilarious sidekick always getting in the good punch lines and never really having any substantial romantic leads. But, because of my hilarity (and gorgeous hair) I manage to stay relevant throughout the story. Sometimes, my life movie can be a drama, maybe even a film noir. Most of the times it’s a comedy, but one genre it will never ever be is a horror movie. Wanna know why? Brains. Brains, coupled with my common sense, keep me out of most dire situations.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Hayley, life isn’t that easy. You can’t keep bad things from happening. The murder rate climbs every year and ghosts are real!”

Well, you’re in luck, because I have a well-crafted response in the form of four reasons why I will live my life until its natural end without any apparitions or raging murderers interfering.

Reason number one: I will never move into a house where anyone has been murdered, especially a family. Let’s think about this for a second. Regardless of whether or not I believe in ghosts, that’s completely unsanitary, despite how much bleach you use. But, let’s say I believe in ghosts. Why would I want to inhabit a dwelling which served asanother person’s crime scene? No matter how reasonably priced the house is, (there’s always a catch, I’m looking at you “American Horror Story), absolutely nothing would make it okay to start a new life where someone else’s ended. Not OK, ever. Because you know what happens after someone is murdered? Ghosts. And if it’s a family and there’s little kid ghosts running around? Forget about it.

Reason number two: I will never own a chainsaw. Let’s be honest, I don’t get along with nature. The other night, there was a cricket inside my apartment and I developed a heart murmur. I don’t plan on cutting down any trees or trimming any bushes into cute shapes like Edward Scissorhands. But, most importantly, I’m not going to give a lunatic any opportunity to have a weapon handy to cut me up into a million little pieces. Or worse, chase me around with it for 45 minutes.

Let’s say a roommate I’m living with has a chainsaw and a crazed lunatic gets a hold of it one night and starts pursuing me. Reason number three why my life will never be a horror movie is because, in my opinion, great hiding places to escape from said lunatic chasing me around with a chainsaw do not include the following: underneath a car, in a tree, in a dug up grave or in a small wooden shed. These things can all be easily accessed by said crazed man and in no way provide me any safety.

The only option if someone is chasing you around with a chainsaw is to literally throw yourself off a cliff. Death may be imminent, but at least it’s the instantaneous impaled-by-a-rock kind.

Finally, we’ve come to my fourth and final reason: I have really sensitive vocal chords. I lose my voice after one night at The Shout House and there is no way I can muster up a blood-curdling scream as I’m being tortured, chased, killed or senselessly beaten by a maniac.

So go ahead and pass along the word to Freddy, Jason and that little puppet from “Saw” that, despite their valiant efforts to make me think horror movie scenes can happen to me in real life, I have it all figured out. No amateur moves will cloud my judgment. I won’t split up from my group, I won’t hide in plain sight and I certainly will not answer the door if there’s no one visible through the peephole. And if all else fails, the fetal position is always a fail-safe.