Congratulations on Meeting Oscar Wilde's Ghost!

Tonight you’re going to be sleeping in an incredibly fancy bedroom in the house that your dead grandfather left you in his inheritance.  Your grandpa was super duper dickish, super homophobic, and super into ghosts, so his idea of an ironic punishment was to have you, his gayest grandchild, inherit his house by sharing a bed with a woman for a night in his very haunted house.

He thought it would, as his beleaguered lawyer read from his will “scare you straight.”

Each time you think of that phrase from this day forward in your life you’ll imagine your grandfather saying it and shake your head in shame at how terrible he was.  But in this economy you don’t turn down a  free house, even if it is haunted and in Alabama, so you’ll get Chrissy, the lady who is desperately in love with you even though you’re gay, and you’ll head to the address he gave you.

When you arrive the two of you will unpack the vegan-raw dinners you purchased in nearby Atlanta (the gayest city in the area) and chow down.  Then you’ll go to bed, with Chrissy making herself big spoon to your little.  You’ll be super relaxed for about three hours, but at two in the morning, sure enough, a g-g-g-ghost will arrive in your room with a loud “BoooOOOOOOooo.”

You’ll tumble out of bed, sheets wrapped around you.  Chrissy will remain asleep, sweet oblivious soul she is.  When you rise to your feet you’ll immediately recognize the specter of noted homosexual and spectacular writer Oscar Wilde.

“Hellooooooooo,” Oscar Wilde will croon at you.

“FABULOUS!” you’ll shout at him, prompting him to place his fingers around his nose as if struck with a sudden pain.

“For the love of god,” he’ll plead.  “Could you be slightly less gay?”

“Sorray,” you’ll sashay at him cattily.

“I went to prison so that people like you could live openly, and the best you’ve thought to do with it is emotionally abuse women and frustrate your grandparents?” he’ll accusingly intone in a firm voice.  You’ll barely hear him, his Irish accent will be so enchanting.

“I wish I was a Ghostbuster so I could just suck you up,” you’ll murmur at him dreamily.

He’ll throw his spectral hands up at that bit and shout at you as he walks away through the wall:

“Fuck you, queen.  Way to set back the movement.”

You won’t know what to make of that last bit, because you’re not very bright.  But you will know that tomorrow morning you’re going to go to the charming diner you and Chrissy saw going into town and order a bunch of hashed browns to make up for eating so healthy the night before.  You’ll settle into bed again, sheets wrapped around you and you alone, thoughts of how you’ll flirt with Chrissy to get her to pay for the whole thing filling your head as sleep closes upon you.

Congratulations on Meeting Oscar Wilde’s Ghost!