Some Other Me

Housework is so boring it makes me wonder whether there is another me doing something much more exciting like bungee jumping, climbing a mountain or committing a master crime at the same time that I’m washing up.

Kind me sympathises when my brother runs around waiting on his wife, “Its nice that Jimmy can help because Jan’s been a bit down….’ at the same time that nasty me is muttering ‘Lazy cow!’

Arguments I have in my head are so much more satisfying than real ones because the other me boings into my own head and says much better cleverer wittier things than I did earlier when arguing with my sister. But when I next meet her I know from her smirk that we were both in her head and she won the argument.

When somebody I really don’t like fancies me I worry about what’s happening to the me inside his head. I mean there is nothing I can do about anything anyone does or says to the me of their imagining and that is worrying. If I had my way I’d be able to head hop to someone better if I was having a crappy time.

On the other hand If it is somebody gorgeous, I wish I knew what was happening, so the me in the kitchen could feel some of the pleasure the me in his head is (hopefully) experiencing.