How to Talk to a Wardrobe / August 16 2007
1/ Drink two bottles of cheap red wine. (I know. I am a very naughty boy.)
2/ Sleep in your clothes. (Shoes optional.)
3/ Misplace the bedroom light switch when you get up in the middle of the night to visit the toilet. (In the past, it has always been right there in the same position on the wall. Then when I really need it, where the hell does it go!?)
4/ Forget where you left your spectacles three hours earlier.
5/ Be an idiot.
There I was at 3am, fumbling around in the dark and not fully conscious. I was trying in pathetic desperation to find the light switch so that I might navigate my way safely to the bathroom and empty my bladder which was so full, I could hear it pinging as it rattled against my ribcage.
Buried deep within my pubconscious were vague memories of an entertaining night spent with an old friend in a nearby hostelry. I was about to give up and just stand there wretched and shameful, resigned to the fact that, soon, I would burst in a big explosion of urine, when who should I spy out of the corner of my eye but Nelson Galaxy, dashing young man-about-town and close family member.
‘Goodness, Nelson, you startled me there for a second. What the hell are you doing here lurking in my bedroom in the dark?’ I asked him.
I was trying to think back at this point, searching my befuddled brain, anxiously trying to remember if he had been with us earlier on. I decided that he must have been; he must have paid me a surprise visit for my birthday which is about seven months away.
He had positioned himself directly in front of my wardrobe – it’s where I keep my clothes when I’m not wearing them - and seemed disinclined to move. For some reason, he was ignoring my questions and although his mouth was moving, he was mute. He had a fretful look on his face and was staggering slightly as if, like me, he was having trouble standing.
‘What on earth is wrong, bro?’ I said. ‘Talk to me.’
But Nelson, normally a very witty and engaging individual, was not saying a word. He was just standing there, silently imitating me. Every time I moved my arms, so did he. Every time I pushed my face towards his, he did the same to me. He kept indulging in little outbursts of animated confusion that, although unvoiced, were exactly like mine: full of angst and frustration.
For a while, I was utterly absorbed by his bizarre act. I was intrigued as to why he should suddenly appear in my room like an eccentric phantom, acting out for me some odd pantomime in complete silence. I was confounded as to why he should feel the need to imitate my movements so, to copy everything I was doing, as if to tease and ridicule me.
Then it dawned on me what was actually happening. I felt so foolish. I was in fact alone in my room - apart from Audrey, of course, who was curled up under the bed dreaming about cats.
It wasn’t Nelson I was talking to: it was me.
What a complete idiot. I had been waving my arms around in my darkened bedroom at my own reflection in the full-length mirror that hangs in the middle of my wardrobe. I had to reach out and touch it to make sure, but yes, there it was: my glassy reflection, looking back at me, very dishevelled, embarrassed as always.
As I was emptying my bladder, I had to allow myself a wry smile. ‘That’s one for the memoirs,’ I thought.
Filed under Drinking / Humour / Nelson Galaxy
Comments
4 comments on “How to Talk to a Wardrobe”
Nelson Galaxy / August 17th, 2007 at 5:11 pm
Your light switch dilemma reminds me of the scene from ‘Time Out Of Joint’ when Raggle Gumm can’t remember where the light cord is and has a real memory of it being somewhere else - thus what we think is real is a sham - actual reality underlies the one we are living in. Or else he was still drunk from the night before. Or summat….
Napoleon Fantastic / August 18th, 2007 at 11:22 am
Yeah but Ragle Gumm had little pieces of paper around the place informing him where everything was and if it wasn’t there, what it should be,
Me, I had nothing like that just drunken fingers and half-open bed-eyes. And a headache.
Jo Beaufoix / August 18th, 2007 at 1:04 pm
Well atleast you didn’t pee in the wardrobe.
You didn’t pee in the wardrobe…did you?
Napoleon Fantastic / August 18th, 2007 at 2:55 pm
I didn’t pee in the wardrobe.
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