Conversation with a ghost

Spring has come early to Seattle. Which means my annual two weeks of hay fever have come early. (I much prefer "hay fever" to "allergies.") So I have taken a Zyrtec, which promises to be "non-drowsy." *sigh* The first broken promise of Spring is so bitter sweet.
I guess I don't mind the wonky-ness. (In fact, in the 10th grade I briefly used antihistamines recreationaly.) Just don't expect much of me.
I'm spacing out, looking at the leafless horse chestnut trees that line our street. They look like heads of broccoli bisected. Broccoli makes me think of brains. Which reminds me of the last time I saw a human brain (it was at one of those traveling anatomy sideshows). The brain without a scull looks smaller than I imagined it would be. It --
"Hey! Mr. Science! Put a sock in it. You're giving me a headache. And if you're short a sock, it's your lucky day. And extra one turned up in the wash."
I've been joined by the ghostly figure of a middle aged woman. At first I think it's my friend Jennifer's Mom. Than I realize.
"Hey! You're Erma Bombeck!"
"Yeah."
"You're dead!"
"Tell me about it."
I was tempted to make a crack about Over the Counter Meds and how the label didn't include the warning: "May hallucinate deceased syndicated columnists>" But I remembered how Scrooge was mocked when he tried to blame Marley's visit on an undigested potato.
Pulling my self together, I smile. "You were a big part of my childhood."
"Please, stop."
"Twice a week you were the high point of the newspaper."
"Three times a week, but who's counting?"
"You were a big influence on me. The whole notion of finding humor in what could be a dull existence."
"Dull isn't the half of it."
"And the whole concept that problems could be laughed at."
"Could and should, sweetie."
"Sometimes I wished you were my mom."
"Trust me, that's a wish you're lucky never came true. I'll give you my kids' numbers. They'll set you straight."
"I'm kind of housebound myself at the moment."
She glances around the chaos of the apartment. "If I were you, I'd fire the maid."
"Believe me," II said, "The maid would love to quit."
I get a ghost of a smile. Literally.
"Mrs. Bombeck --"
"Please, Erma."
"Erma. How did you do it? You made it seem easy."
"Easy? Did you read my column?"
"Uh..."
"Wait, how old were you when you stopped reading?"
"Early teens?"
"Yup."
"Ok, Ok. I get it."
"Well," She sat down and leaned back, "To be fair, there were things that never made it into the newspaper. The speculation about what flavor of Tuna Helper would best hide the taste of poison. The time my hilarious husband couldn't find something right under his nose and I suggested we could put it in a place where he'd always know where it was. The time I was cleaning under the bed and decided to stay down there because the dust bunnies were better company than my family."
"Harsh."
"Yeah, pretty much anything I submitted that involved daytime drinking, self-mutilation or bouts of unexplained crying got spiked."
"But it's ok, right? There's a noble element to it all. Yeah?"
She picks up the bottle of Zyrtec, shakes it till it rattles."How many of these did you take?"
"Erma!"
"Oh, relax. I'm just fuckin' with you."
I am stunned at her use of the F word.
"Look," She says, "Ask yourself this: Why me? Why of all the billions of dead people, did you pick me to show up."
Huh.
"Oh, Jeez! Look at the time. Hey, I got a load of whites that are just hitting the spin cycle. I'm pretty sure that's where socks appear and disappear. Hey, that's my big advice for you, why I'm hear today -- don't start counting the socks on laundry day. Drive you nuts. And it doesn't fuckin' matter which way the toilet paper goes on."
And she's gone.
Two weeks. That's how long my hay fever usually lasts. I'm guessing tomorrow Ann Landers will show up suggesting counseling or a chat with my minister. Please don't let me laugh at her hair.