Brain: It’s probably just a bruise.
Me: (waking up) Whaaa?
Brain: That pain in your toe.
Me: Can we not? I was dreaming about Tom Hardy blowing soot in my face.
Brain: Look, I don’t want to be – no, doesn’t matter.
Brain: Nothing, forget I said anything.
Me: No, go on.
Brain: You don’t think it could be….(whispers) something worse?
Me: I kicked a ball. That’s all. It’s nothing.
Brain: We don’t know anything at this stage.
Me: This is ridiculous, I’m going back to sleep.
Brain: Bob Marley kicked a football and it gave him cancer.
Me: It did not give him cancer, the cancer was already there.
Brain: So what you’re saying is, kicking the football alerted him to the cancer.
Brain: Because it made his toe painful.
Brain: They’ll probably have to amputate. You might lose a foot.
Me: Oh, COME ON.
Brain: It’s probably better if they take your whole leg, actually. Safer.
Brain: They could just chop you in half and save your torso. At least you’ll still be able to do your hair and makeup.
Me: Wait, I –
Brain: Unless it’s already too late…
Me: Too late?
Brain: I’d go for a Viking burial.
Me: How did we –
Brain: You could be on a boat and someone (really handsome) could fire a flaming arrow into it.
Me: I want singing too.
Brain: Maybe a Welsh choir or a solitary chorister…
Brain: Everyone clutching each other’s hands, crying.
Me: Telling stories about me…
Brain: …..The flaming boat with your body on board getting stuck in the reeds as your husband starts eyeing up your sister in her hot black bodycon dress.
Me: Hang on, she doesn’t wear things like that.
Brain: She lost a lot of weight. Because of the stress of you dying.
Me: I don’t believe this.
Brain: It’s probably just a bruise. Yeah, right.