At first I thought the BF was having a fit while he was sleeping, but when I listened more carefully, it seemed to me that he had got a life at last.
He seemed to be talking about dancing, not something the guy is very good at, I can assure you of that fact.
He was muttering over and over again: "Slow, slow, quick, quick slow. Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow."
Suddenly he sat straight up in bed, his eyes wide open, screaming in terror. That made me spill my nail varnish all over the bed.
"QuickPath!" he screamed. "QuickPath! Crazy Intel has decided to call its version of CSI QuickPath!"
I had to make him a cup of warm milk and honey and whisper sweet nothings into his ear before his night terror subsided. Sheesh! µ
Now you can watch documentaries about horribly disfigured people whenever you like
Brad to the bone
Being in a minority of one doesn't make you right
WeWork needs a rework