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Telling Your Friend About That Weird Dream You Had About Them

February 14, 2012

The relevance of this will become clear.

‘Hey dude,’ he mumbles as you let yourself in and slump onto the sofa. Cash in the Attic might be on the TV; RoT hasn’t really put that much thought into it. Your friend brings you a cup of tea and as he hands it to you, his finger brushes yours. In an instant, you remember. ‘Man, I had a dream about you last night,’ you say, not really thinking the consequences of this through. Your friend barely even looks up at you: everyone knows that dream-talk is the most boring type of talk (inching out pet-talk). ‘I went round to your house,’ you begin, ‘to ask you about going on holiday. But your house was, like, well different, and that. It was rank.’ Your friend is possibly listening, but he’s definitely texting someone. ‘You weren’t there,’ you continue, doggedly, ‘But you left a note telling me to watch this new drama programme, because you were an extra in it.’ Your friend grunts in reply and changes the TV channel. Loose Women is just starting on the other side. ‘So I watched this programme for like 50 minutes and you weren’t in it. But then you got home so I was talking to you and you said your bird had dumped you and you were well sad.’ Your friend listens to you a bit more now: he doesn’t have a ‘bird’, so any talk of one elicits excitement. ‘But in the background – aw, mate! – the TV was still on and it was your bit and you were proper getting it on with this bird.’ Already this is a bit weird. You should be able to tell, from the nervous laugh your friend gives, or the way he draws back, slightly, away from you. But you continue. ‘She had a proper tidy body, like, but when her face was on screen it was all like an aardvark, only it tapered into a lollipop.’ You must know to stop now: your friend has stood up and is pretending to tidy the pile of Nuts Magazines on the coffee table. ‘And then you started SUCKING on her lollipop face! Mate, it was wicked!’ Your friend leaves, shutting himself in his bedroom. When, after an hour, he hasn’t emerged, you leave. You never see him again.

Verdict: We all know how this bit goes: better to remain silent and be thought a fool than open ones mouth and remove all doubt.


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