Happy f@ckin’ birthday

This morning just before I woke up I asked K what time he needed to get to the airport

He replied, ‘Blurrgghh?’

Well, I thought, if he’s going to Poland he needs to get a move on. Then I woke up. It was 5:45 am.

It reminded me of a conversation we’d had with our friends L and J recently – sipping beers in NYC.

J had woken up the night before with night terrors convinced something terrible had happened to their delicious dog, Kitty. Fear not, the poodle was fine.

The conversation wandered onto ‘funny things we’ve said when we were asleep.’

My ‘stick it in your own eye’ is my favourite (see earlier post) closely followed by shouting at an ex – who had the habbit of clamping the duvet and rolling over pulling it from my shivering body – ‘You are not a fork and the duvet is not spaghetti.’

J said, that one night while almost asleep and with eyes closed L said,

‘well don’t you roll your eyes at me!’

But my favourite story of this kind was my friends N and Al – Al snores and sometimes N has to wake him up or roll him over to get back to sleep. On one such occasion, N was prodding Al when he rolled to face her with half opened eyes and growled,

‘Happy fucking birthday.’

4 comments

  1. Sipping beers? I seem to remember the situation as tragically different.

  2. How so? Weren’t we in the strange middle Eastern place with Hooka’s after I got carded and couldn’t get into the other place?

  3. I belive poor Senor Arford was suffering from drinkers jealousy as he was sipping beer-coloured puddle-water and a variety of unmentionable cocktails.

  4. When I was leaving for work one morning, my ex (still a student, and therefore still in bed) told me not to steal any goats. I asked where I was likely to find any on an industrial estate. She said, “Just follow the trail of jam”, and went back to sleep.Oh, and another time there was something about penguins sledging down mountains in suitcases. Sadly, I forget the details of that one.

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