I have anxiety dreams, mostly.
And I won’t tell you about them, because there is nothing, no nothing, more boring than listening to someone else’s dream. That’s Timothy’s job. Hence, the following.
Me, via text: I totally dreamed that it was your birthday and we completely forgot! The guilt just woke me up.
[To save my blushes, I will not specify what time this text was sent.]
Timothy: But it is my birthday!
Nice try. I was sleepy enough to give some serious thought to what month it was, and then I remembered that we were having an adventurous time in the New Forest on Tim’s birthday, getting stuck in bogs and things. He was just hoping to wangle some presents and cake, I think.
So, Henry and I obliged.
Happy fake-anxiety-dream birthday, Timothy!
(I didn’t mean to make it look like a Menorah. It just does. A bit. Can you make a Menorah out of Krispy Kremes?)