“No one’s going to believe us,” Tracey said to me.
“I don’t want to believe you,” I admitted.
We were staring down at our bed frame, which had snapped in two last night: on the last night we were using it before taking off on a bus where the sleeping arrangements effectively mean I’m joining a monestery.
“You know what people are going to say,” Tracey went on. “If you tell them.”
“Oh, I’m telling them,” I assured her.
Of course I’m telling people. I’m a guy. These sorts of feats are how we level up in the game of life.
I’m certainly not going to draw attention to the fact I’ve put on a gram or two this year and the bed just might have been hinting I could do without second breakfast occasionally.
So yep, our bed broke last night and it’s just what your dirty little minds have settled on: I’m a farking legend.