I called you up and I said How were you and could I please speak to the Idea of You? You said Excuse Me? I said I didn't call to talk to you, I called to talk to the Idea of You. I said I had been doing some thinking. I had realized that all the time I had been seeing you, it was really the idea of you that I wanted to go out with. You asked me how I had come to this astonishing conclusion. I said Oh, little things had tipped me off; the way you knocked over your water glass last Wednesday, when the idea of you was grace and ease. The way you fumbled for words on Sunday, but the idea of you always knew what to say. I said I always understood the idea of you, but lately you were beginning to confuse me. There was a momentary pause as you handed over the receiver, and then a voice came on the line that reminded me of you but without those annoying glitches and halts. We talked for a few minutes in what felt like a carefree, ideal way; and then the Idea of You asked to speak to the Idea of Me. I asked for clarification of this bizarre suggestion--and it asserted that the Idea of Me was too sensitive and intelligent to reject the human imperfections of someone I loved. Sensing that I had somehow dropped the ball, I nobly stepped aside so that the Idea of Us could live happily ever after.