Edward! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Chicago…

Ok. I have to tell you something. This isn’t a “business trip” to Honolulu. I am seeing someone. And if you open the closet right now, you will find… a bad boy ghost with a very small hula skirt wrapped around itself.

Let me explain: Every year for the past seven years, on your birthday, I know I tell you that I’m going to the tropics for business. But what I’m really doing is coming here to have a one-night stand with a crazed lunatic ghost.

Why? Oh, because your birthday is the day he died in a totally preventable motorcycle accident and the anniversary of that is the only day he can transpose back into the material world.

Oh, why am I having sex with a ghost? Listen… I love you so much, Edward, because you are a man of dignity, and you absolutely would refuse to do the horrible, disgusting, unforgivably vile things this incredibly sexy bad ghost does to me. And I am yours, 24/7/364. But there is a powerful part of me that needs, for just one night a year, some very specific, humiliating things from an outlaw rebel ghost who died in a high-speed drug-fueled motorcycle chase on this very island and yes, he’s my ex-boyfriend from high school, oh my god, slow down!

What are you doing? He’s not in the closet, Edward. You didn’t see him, but he took your wallet two minutes ago, and he’s probably at a luau, scoring MDMA.

Just hear me out. Ok. Thank you, honey. I thought you’d followed me to Waikiki to break up with me or something crazy. Yes, total honesty from here on out. I’ll start: Yes, the ghost is the ghost of my ex-boyfriend, Bad Boy Trevor, who was a terror to my life and seems to have gotten worse as a ghost. He says he killed an angel, and I don’t know if I believe him, but whatever’s wrong with him, I can fix it.

And it’s not like I’m making love to a real body. I’m basically masturbating to a memory, a memory that feels more real than anything we’ve ever done together.

But that’s why I love you two differently. You’re boring and pedestrian and alive. You are good with my mom and are stable and supportive. Ghost Trevor is really good at hacking into my bank accounts when I sleep and making me feel alive by holding a rusty knife to my throat.

And just know: I would never cheat on you with another ghost. Why? Well, because most ghosts don’t die with a full-on raging erection. Except Elvis.

So what do you say, Edward? Can we make this work? Good. Because Ghost Trevor wants us to rob a grocery store, and we need three people.