I had an unsettling and unpleasant dream last night, but seeing as the only thing more boring than people talking about their dreams is people talking about their food allergies, I won’t mention it again.
Except to say that I know exactly why I’m having these anxiety-producing dreams. It’s my little sister’s fault. We’re moving in together this weekend (it was meant to be Wednesday, but she forgot to hire a van), and she has given me a single job. She is in charge of the move itself, kitchen appliances, setting up the shared bank account, finding our 3rd flatmate and so on, but I am in charge of the important things. I am choosing our internet provider.
‘This will be easy,’ I thought to myself smugly when she told me. ‘I’m really good at the internet.’ I popped out to dinner with some friends. (Brasserie Zedel- it’s very good, you should go. Though the portions are fine, so there’s no need to eat 2 bread baskets, as I did, and have to be wheeled home). ‘Now,’ I said importantly. ‘We need to discuss internet providers.’ My friends looked at me, thrilled. (Sometimes I find it difficult to interpret other people’s facial expressions. It’s like a much less severe case of ‘The Man who mistook his Wife for a Hat’. But still socially awkward).
‘Who do you use?’ My friends mumbled something about not knowing/ caring.
A lesser person would have dropped the subject, and allowed their friends to enjoy their meal. ‘Look,’ I said sternly. ‘This is really important. I am basically in charge of making sure this entire move doesn’t fall apart. I need you to really think about your internet service provider, and if you would recommend them. If you could also consider upload and download speeds, as well as cost-per-month and potential ‘downtime’, that would be much appreciated.’
From the look on my friends’ faces (even a broken clock tells the right time twice a day), I had inadvertently stumbled across the other thing more boring than talking about dreams.