As I child, I never had an imaginary friend — which is weird, considering I was exactly the type of kid who you’d expect to have one. Fond of complex imaginary games and daydreaming, I was the kid you could count on to wander away from the class and get lost on a field trip to the museum.
Against all odds, however, an imaginary friend was not part of the equation.
I have since remedied that. At the ripe old age of 31, I have a very dear friend whom I admire, in whose company I simply delight, and who shares a number of the same interests as me. There’s only one catch: We’ve never actually met.
Her name is Rachel Maddow, and she is my best imaginary friend in the world (continued).