I am in Love with a Dead Woman

 Our friendship will be based on our love for Oscar Wilde and contempt for the same people. I will introduce her to the books of Mitch Albom, the broadcasts of Katie Couric, the country-pop of Taylor Swift, the paintings of Thomas Kinkade and Dr. Laura’s radio program. She will hate them all as much she hated A.A. Milne in her lifetime. We will laugh. I will ask her if she knew that “Men seldom make passes/At girls who wear glasses.” would stick. She will say: “Hell yeah, doll.” We will be buy hats together (even if Walmart is the only option in the middle of the night for an insomniac and her ghost friend). I will tell her that I love A Telephone Call. I will probably develop a crush on her. She will pretend not to notice. I will take up drinking and probably become an alcoholic. I will ask her if Hemingway was good in bed. She will say something like, “All those guns and no bang.” I will laugh and ask: “Are you serious?” She will smile and never answer me. We will drink some more scotch. I will ask if she met Gertrude Stein when she visited Hemingway in Paris. She will say something offensive. I will be dejected. She will apologize. We will drink more scotch and try on hats until dawn.