Comedy, Short Stories, Writing

Conversations between yourself and your significant other

Does romance die when you tell your partner about the fantasies which help you sleep at night, or when they pick a bogey out of your nose?

Sexual fantasies are easier to share then sleepy notions, the day dreams you comfort yourself with from childhood to adulthood when stomach clenching issues stop your brain switching off. They confuse at childhood, and in adulthood they embarrass. Aren’t we meant to be over that shit?

Would I rather a partner see me wax my most unfeminine of body hair or I confess that alone in bed I have won hundreds of branded awards, stood on platforms and dazzled childhood heroes with a speech that brought them and my family to tears, I have been interviewed by scores of television, radio and podcast hosts and I told that guy (and that guy, and that guy) off with all the wit of Oscar Wilde and firepower of Ally McBeal

(My esprit d’escalier moment is so well lit in the moment where the dream starts to take over.)

I have really lived in my bed, just before my subconscious started to scramble my brain into meaningless, but oh so freudian images, the process of my life was very black and white.

I would like you to … on my …. is less embarrassing then I would like to get married just so one of my parents can’t walk me down the aisle, they can sit in the rafters for their neglect.

When I wake up there is never any milk left for cereal.






I love you more than a cake is not a compliment.

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