Marzipan! Marzipan! Marzipan

Marzipan! Marzipan! Marzipan!

Her head hit the pillow, closely followed by mine. As we hugged, sleep
began to set in. Peaceful, calm, sleep holding each other closely. It
didn't last though. Every night, without fail, after about thirty
minutes, she starts to talk about marzipan. Marzipan that grotesque
yellow plastecine substance people insist lining cakes with. Marzipan
the foulest substance in the world, at least in my opinion.

"Marzipan!" She screamed, "I want marzipan! I need marzipan, I crave
it, I desire it, let me eat of it's bounty, let its taste flood my
senses, cover me in it, head to toe, my legs, my breasts, my cunt, my
hair all of me in that beautiful yellow gold!"

"What the fuck?!" I awoke and shouted. No matter how many times this
happened, I still awoke with the same reaction, at times I liked to try
to pretend that it was just a very weird dream. "Shut up and sleep, we
don't have any marzipan. I'm getting tired of this, every single
night."

She didn't hear me. All she heard was the marzipan talking to her. I
could maybe begin to understand if, say, she was having acid flash
backs or had just smoked herself silly on dope, but no. All she'd had
before bed was a glass of milk and a peanut butter sandwich.

And still she went on. "Marzipan! Beautiful sunshine food, beautiful
all empowering freedom of yellow. I dream of a world made of marzipan.
Marzipan! Marzipan! Marzipan! I want it all. I want it in cock shapes
so I can fuck myself with it, make love to it! O! Marzipan! Marzipan!
Marzipan!"

"For fucks sake, shut up." I shook her, quite softly at first and then
slightly harder. She jumped and then enquired as to what I was playing
at, waking her up just after she'd gotten to sleep. "SLEEP?!" I
questioned, "You weren't asleep! You were shouting about marzipan
again. Every night it's the same thing. Every night it's marzipan this
and marzipan that. You don't even like marzipan."

"Honey," she interrupted, "nobody really likes marzipan. I've no idea
what you are talking about, now let me sleep please, every night you
wake me up, and tell me about how I've supposedly been talking about
marzipan!"

"But you do?" I pleaded.

"I do not, now sleep you fool!" She had a slight smile on her face as
she said that.

She remained calm and asleep for the rest of the night.

I woke around ten. Pam had already left for work. Her marzipan
ramblings during the night had been going on for two weeks now and
every night that I had shaken her awake and every night she had accused
me of being a freak. I got in the car, an old metro, and headed to
Argos. I was going to buy a Dictaphone and record her next time she
mentioned marzipan in her sleep. This was going to be fun.

I arrived home and stashed the Dictaphone under my side of the bed,
after testing it of course. I spent ten minutes mimicking Pam's
nighttime marzipan ramblings. O! The fun!

That night we made love and then I let her fell asleep. Sure enough she
soon started on about the yellow gunk. I picked up the Dictaphone and
pressed record. I led back down and listened to her ramblings, I didn't
try to wake her this time.

"O! You beautiful yellow gastronomic delight! O! Luxury is your name,
pleasure your purpose."

This was good stuff!

"Woe betides the nations and peoples of the world who have yet taste
your wicked, wicked beauty!"

She carried on like this for a good ten minutes. After she silenced, I
let myself fall asleep. I could not wait till the morning.

The shrill beeping of the alarm clock signified the arrival of morning.
We awoke, kissed and said "Good Morning" to each other. Then I brought
up the topic of marzipan.

"I do not go on like that at all." Pam said.

"Oh, but you do." I said in a matter-of-fact voice. "Listen." I reached
under the bed and found the Dictaphone. I rewound the tape and pressed
play. "I made this recording last night."

Her voice came from the tiny speaker in the Dictaphone. Every word that
she had spoken captured for her own listening displeasure. Pam had a
look of horror on her face.

"You? you bastard!" She stuttered, "How? why? when??"

"Last night. It's the same from you every single night. And you call me
crazy when I wake you. What are you dreaming about when you're saying
this stuff?"

"You've faked that? you've used a voice synthesiser on the computer or
something."

"And gotten your voice so accurate? I don't think so!"

"It's all distorted."

"It's playing from the speaker on a Dictaphone, of course it is."

"But, but, but?"

"But nothing." I interrupted. "What are you dreaming of at
night?"

"I don't know? if this is me as you say it is, then I just don't
know."

"Maybe see a psychiatrist?"

"A shrink? I'm not mad you know!"

"I never said you were? maybe just to get to the bottom of this."

"I'm late for work." Pam snapped and jumped out of bed. She walked
quickly into the bathroom and locked the door. I could hear her
mumbling about something through the door. "Damn him, damn him? what is
he playing at?? That's not me? that's not me."

Next I heard her scream. An angry scream, and then she stopped
mumbling. The bathroom door opened, she walked back into the bedroom,
slipped off her silk nighty on to the floor, bent over and picked it
up, placed it on the bed. She opened the top right hand draw of the
chest draws and pulled out a pair of knickers. She slid them on. I got
up from the bed and walked out the door into the kitchen and put the
coffee on.

Pam came into the kitchen fully dressed and sat at the other end of the
table. "I don't even like marzipan."

"I know honey, but this, that on the tape, is going on every single
night. I think you should see someone about it."

"OK? I'll book an appointment when I get to work." With that Pam left
the table and poured herself a coffee, added two sugars and some milk
to the cup, stirred it around and came and sat down again.

"Right, " I announced, "I am going to have a shower." And with that I
left the table and went to the bathroom. I heard the front door close
from the shower as Pam left for work.