The Ghost of Boyfriends Past

So I went out drinkin' with my friend J tonight, and high time too. She's been sad over a boyfriend but she's coming back and jesus, I'm so glad. Because I am a selfish bitch and she's my main chick and drinking partner and it's been boring as hell without her. Also, okay, because I'm glad she's starting to feel better. I've tried to be helpful, saying helpful things like, "Christ, he's only a guy. Who cares?" and "Have you tried several bottles of Jack Daniels?" and "Do you want to go toilet paper his house? Because I'll help." but oddly, that stuff hasn't done much. Time is the only thing that does much, as we all, women of a certain age (that would be over 13) know. At any rate, she's snapping back to my wonderful artist friend J and as we walked away from the Frog Bar we met the recently minted Asheville Ghost Tour.

"Great." said J. "I could give them the Ghost of Boyfriends Past Tour." Yes. This is a brilliant and possibly even a lucrative idea. I envision my own Ghost of Boyfriends Past Tour, for some reason, in the form of classical Greek Drama. As written by Euripides on an off night. Or not Euripides maybe, perhaps someone more depressing. Who wrote the Oedipus cycle? Besides Robert Graves and Robert DeNiro? I want him. And, as an aside, hey, people of the future? When you find the fragments of my world renowned works, well, it's absolutely imperative that they be performed out loud, while walking, smoking tobacco cigarettes, drinking beer and wearing black lace bustiers, embroidered jeans, high heeled sandals with ankle straps and pink feather boas. Great, great, that looks really good. Thanks. (maniacal laughter from beyond the grave)

Narrator (dressed in, what the hell else, a suit. Maybe a black suit? Or pinstripes?) Very white. So white he couldn't really, without clorox, be much whiter.) Okay, it's time for the Ghost of Boyfriends Past! We're starting out on Patton Avenue, where we will find Jack of the Wood. Let's pause for a moment to recapitulate how Felicity met J.
Chorus: (White togas, honey.) Waaaaaaoooooooohhhhhhhhhhh!!!
Narrator: Felicity spent a lot of time here on the Group W bench with J.
Chorus: AAAAAAAAAAasaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuugggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!!
Narrator 2: (This is Zsa Zsa Gabor, or the closest approximation you can find.) Dahlink! Ignore this J boy, he was unimportant dahlink! Let us move on to Hannah Flanagans, where Felicity often met. . .(drum roll, sinister electronic noises) B!
Chorus (writhing): AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaoooooooooouuuuugggggggggggggghhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!
Narrator 1: Or here, this is the Bier Garten, where B sat with Felicity on their very first date and then again, later, when things . . . weren't going so well.
Chorus: She's Datin' Satan! It was doomed from the start! AAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaoooooooooohhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!! Can I Get A Witness?!?!?!?!?
Narrator 2: But Dahlink, let's go to Barleys! Felicity often met here for lunch with B, incognito!
Chorus: It's not a good idea to date people who are pretending you're just frieeeeeeeennnnnnnnnddddddddsssss!!!!!!!!!! Ooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhh!!!!!!!

And so on. There is a certain relief involved in not dating anyone at all, I must say.