One day, my then-BF, now affectionately known as DZ for reasons that can remain unpublicised, announced that he had invited a friend over (to my house) for lunch. I had met the friend once and only briefly so had a little trepidation, but happily agreed to company. The friend arrived and we got along famously from the get go. After some lunch we got to talking about the things we enjoyed doing, and in particular, the kind of entertainment - in this case, comedy - we liked most. The friend asked if I had heard of Achmed, and when I said I knew nothing of him, suggested we find it on you-tube. Which, as it happened, turned out to be a turning point in my life.
I thought Achmed was hilarious, as did the friend, and we both fell about laughing at the jokes. DZ sat stony faced, not understanding - or at least choosing not to understand - the humour. And it was at that moment, I realised that maybe I needed to reassess things.
Could I really be in a relationship with someone that didn't share my sense of humour? My sense of the ridiculous?
The friend left, and I had another watershed moment. I wished it were DZ heading home not the friend. Not because I fancied the friend, but because I realised that his company was easier to keep than my own boyfriends.
Things, as you would expect, went from bad to worse pretty quickly after that. All the things I thought I could live with, turned out to be less habitable that I first thought. And don't get me wrong - it was mutual. There were so many things that made us incompatible, and poking fun at Islamic skeletons was only one of them.
In retrospect I should have had my eyes open sooner. I should have been kinder to him, and me, and been more honest about this stuff. I've learned a lesson (several) from that.
And thanks to Achmed, I have learned that laughter isn't always just the best medicine, but it can also make a fantastic truth serum.
Meet Achmed HERE