You: I have terrible insomnia.
Me: I have terrible insomnia and jet lag from my holiday.
You: I can’t afford to go on holiday. I am too poor.
Me: If it’s any consolation, I picked up a cough while I was away that I can’t shake off.
You: I have a cough from giving up smoking. Because I can’t afford cigarettes anymore.
Me: At least your cough makes sense. My cough might be tuberculosis.
You: And mine might be cancer. You can’t rule anything out these days.
Me: At least you have a room for someone to stay in while they nurse you. I live in a one bedroom flat.
Me: If only I could live in West London. You’re so lucky.
You: There’s nothing lucky about someone whose dishwasher flooded last night.
Me: I have mice.
You: I think I have a rat.
Me: I have foxes in my garden that have violent sex that sounds like a woman being killed.
You: A fox came into my bedroom and stole my favourite high heels.
Me: I can’t wear high heels because of my bad back.
You: At least you have an excuse to take Valium.
Me: Taking medication for my bad back has made my stomach so sensitive.
You: My stomach is sensitive because of anxiety.
Me: At least no one can see that. My anxiety always comes out through my skin.
You: If anxiety is causing your bad skin, that means you can do something about it. My bad skin is a mystery.
Me: I would kill to have more mystery in my life. Everything is so terrifyingly predictable.
You: Predictability is my dream. That’s stability.
Me: Stability is the end of growth.
You: I don’t want to grow anymore, I already look five years older than I am.
You: I’ll probably die soon.
You: Shall we get another bottle?