A ballerina visits me at exactly 3 am every night. I am awoken to the sound of her humming, starting down stairs, working her way up, getting louder and louder.
In she comes, bursting through like water from a hose, twirling, tip-toeing, humming away, not a care in the world. That is, until i speak.
''Please fucking stop!''
To which her whole presence changes, she stands staring out the window, before screaming, leaping at me. All of a sudden my mates face appears from inside her, laughing, with the caption ''New 2042 Range Tutu's''.
I fucking hate pop-ups.