Opinion | She married a ghost. Then she divorced him via an exorcism. Turns out that’s a trend

It might be time to scrap, “Til death do us part.”

That wedding vow makes no sense if the groom is dead. I didn’t intend for this to become Paranormal Week here in the East York Bunker. Yesterday, it was UFOs. Today, it’s British singers who divorce ghosts. What should we discuss tomorrow? Remote viewing? Cryptozoology? Barbieheimer?

The British singer is named Brocarde. She is not to be confused with Bacardi, though I will admit to downing a Rum-and-Coke to power through headlines such as: “Woman Married To Victorian Ghost Has Now Divorced Him Through Exorcism.”

The Daily Mail provided a tidy synopsis: “Brocarde, 40, from Oxfordshire, insists she met soldier Edwardo after the ghoul ‘burst’ into her bedroom one night during a storm, but after their ‘wedding’ on Halloween 2022, things went downhill.”

The “devilishly handsome” Edwardo became fiendishly aggressive. He taunted Brocarde with the sound of a screaming baby. He was possessive. This seemed a bit much since Brocarde suspected Edwardo was cheating on her with Marilyn Monroe. Plus, he never took out the rubbish and mocked “The Conjuring.”

So now we know there is a Splitsville in the Afterlife.

And just when I was looking forward to one day courting Amelia Earhart.

I don’t know why my counterparts across the pond are playing this straight. This ghost divorce reeks of a PR stunt. Then again, based on Brocarde’s Instagram, she does look like someone who might fall for a ghost.

She’s leaning hard into the goth vibe. She reminds me of girls in my high school who wore all black, modelled their makeup on raccoons, had double-digit ear piercings and would skip chemistry to have a séance behind the portables while blasting The Cure.

The divorce rate among the living is, what, close to 50 per cent? It’s 100 per cent when one partner is dead. I have a fuzzy memory of a dude who married a ghost and had to call it off because she kept nagging him about the way he slurped spaghetti.

Memo to Ron DeSantis: table manners are eternal.

Then there was this tidbit in the Irish Mirror two years ago: “Amanda Large, who split with the ghost of ‘Captain Jack Teague,’ has revealed that she’s now moved on with a real man who is very much alive …”

Poor real man. Imagine if your girlfriend’s ex was a 300-year-old pirate.

“Ahoy,” you’d say awkwardly, trying to initiate pillow talk. “Shiver me timbers!”

Scoff all you want. I’m telling you, there will be more invisible hooking up in the future. You’ll have a dinner party and one chair will be left empty because one of your friends arrived with Jane Austen. Or you’re sitting in the park and squinting with disbelief as a young lass hugs and French kisses a weeping willow.

That’s right. It’s not just apparitions that are marriage material. A woman really once married a tree. Other famous cases of so-called objectophilia include women who married a roller-coaster, chandelier, train station, dolphin, Eiffel Tower …

I feel sorry for the woman who married the Berlin Wall. Her husband was felled by tectonic social change. I can only pray nobody ever said “I do” to the Hindenburg.

Is there an inanimate object you’d marry? I once had a plasma lamp that was oddly sensual. And I might be willing to leave my wife for The Keg.

We could have a great life together.

Most people will never buy an engagement ring for a ghost or vintage Birkin bag. But make no mistake: human relationships are headed toward a rough patch. Big Tech sees simulated love as a business opportunity. In R&D labs outside of Tokyo right now, scientists are dreaming up ways to conjure the soul mates of tomorrow.

You think Tinder is disorienting now? Wait until the robots are swiping right.

I once wrote a column about a bodybuilder who married his sex doll. It seemed weird just three years ago. Now? If I went to someone’s house and his android bride was watching Netflix, it might not even register until I exchanged pleasantries with Maxine and suddenly noticed she never blinks.

We have more gadgets in our lives than people. Those gadgets will soon know us.

In the modern context of AI, “Her” is a doc. “Ex Machina” is a cautionary tale.

In the future, normal will become paranormal. We already know people who would give up their spouse before giving up their phone. What chance will a human have when competing against a drop-dead gorgeous cyborg with perfect recall, unlimited skills, zero mood swings and who exists to please?

In a panic, I told my wife we should renew our vows for the afterlife. She frowned and stared into the middle distance. She might be holding out for David Bowie.

So, Brocarde? Give Edwardo another chance — for you, him, all of us.

Your bizarre love story was a bulwark against Big Tech’s diabolical love plans.

Remember when you first met Edwardo on that stormy night and he breathed warmly on the back of your neck? Remember the flea market when he slipped on a banana peel and how you both laughed? Give that ghost marriage another go.

Lead the spiritual way before we are trapped in loveless unions with talking Dysons.

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