Boys will be Boys

David and I were standing at the kitchen bench Monday morning, the sun was shining, the morning sparkled. He was preparing cereal with milk and I was rolling a joint. I succumbed, the "powers" were working against me. Guido, who else. No can do, very tired try again tomorrow or the next day even, he sms'd back to me, Sunday. By the morning I had come to my senses, telling myself that he'd, actually, done me a favour. Lucky escape. Think positively. Don't chase it up, he might just forget.

Then, Monday morning he calls, be there within the hour. He arrives with a bag in his hand. Big sunglasses. A bit worse for wear. Monday morning. This is not a full bag, just give me fifty, he says. Yeah, thanks Guido, your twenty four hours late with half a bag; no sorry, no how are you, nothing. Even if I spent the morning wishing for him to forget altogether. But that's not the point, he's gettin just a little too... er, um... familiar, smile, is what I reckon.

I was so torn by everything I was feeling, close call gone bad, what was I thinking, I was doing so well. So, I got the box of tricks out deciding I wouldn't care once I'd smoked one. Weak as piss, I know. Day off. I didn’t have to take my mum to the doctor until 3pm. I could go back to bed for a pull. Plenty of time.

David poured the milk on to his rice crispy, sugar snacks, big bowl and then went to put some coffee on. I dropped the discarded filter, from the cigarette I broke up, onto the top of his cereal. Clean, no tobacco attached. Just the crisp, clean paper cylinder.

Then David was next to me, saying something about me being funny. He had those eyes on, the spoilt child who shall never be outdone eyes. He scooped up a spoonful of milk and poured it into the mix, saying how funny he was.

Moments froze. I don't believe you! I was speechless. I stayed calm, remembering to breath. All he had to do was lift the filter off again. I had soggy tobacco all though my muli, all through the mix bowl, everywhere.

I started to pick the mess out, resigned. David lent into my ear repeating how funny he was. Giggling. I looked at him and tilted my head, as if to say, Not funny. He laughed and joked even more, how funny he was. You know, it was just a stupid thing... and if he'd stopped bleating how funny he was in my ear, I probably wouldn't have made the next move.

David, just stop, I thought. I looked at him again without saying a thing. Pleading eyes, I’m sure.

He kept going. That’s how funny I can be.

If it wasn't for the disproportionate reaction, I wouldn't have cared. No, it was the bleating in my ear. To over-react and then to hold on to it and just keep going, I'm funny, I'm funny, I'm funny. I win. The damage needed to be evened up, he needed to be doing more work than simply lifting a filter, laughing really, the situation now warranted it.

Aren't I funny.

You know what would be funny? I picked up the now reasonably full-of-soggy-debris mix bowl and dumped the contents into David's cereal. It floated across the surface, like those times you mow too close to a pond and the debris covers the surface like litter.

You witch!

See how funny I am, David. See how funny, funny is.

It looked like a white sea in which a log raft had been destroyed, probably one of those ocean storms. I could see miniature sticks and twigs.

I've got to go and teach, so I can't even eat that. He looked down at it. Even if I wanted to.

Now that's funny! I said.