You and your Pharmacy Pal like to sit and wait for your prescriptions and reminisce about the women you’ve loved.
Him: “We spent three days in bed in a hotel room in Cleveland. When we finally put our clothes on and turned on the TV, Reagan had been reelected.”i
You: “She used to throw forks at my head she loved me so much. Her husband once offered to pay me $75,000 if I’d move three states away.”
Today’s the big day when you both realize you’re describing the same woman. A woman who used to cry over the bow of the Staten Island Ferry while wearing a white dress.
“That’s so insane,” you’ll say. “I guess with all the women you and I have had we were bound to intersect.”
“Was she real?” he’ll ask. “Or a spectre.”
“Specter,” you’ll say. “Totally. No one else on the boat could see her. She was the ghost of a woman who’d been jilted at the altar and threw herself overboard.”
“How many specters you had?” your Pharmacy Pal will say.
You hate when he asks you first, because he always tops it. You tell him six disembodied apparitions or “energies” as the people on TV like to say.
“Seven,” he’ll say. “Fucking ghosts. They really don’t have any morality do they?”
They really don’t, tell him. Then both of you should sit silently and enjoy your memories of the spirits of women you’ve made love to.
Happy Pharmacy Pal Day!