Before you can take a boy home to meet your mother, he has to meet your mates. He has to pass the homie test. And Batch is no exception.

The process began last night when he came to pick me up for dinner and met my housemate Jay, whom you may have read about here, and have almost certainly met, or know someone who has. Jay is the Kevin Bacon of Boston. He is the link that brings those six degrees right down to one.

So I was not really very surprised—though, as always, I was slightly amazed—when it turned out that they, too, were connected. While the details were fuzzy, the two had met (in a professional capacity). And likely more than once over the years.

That was not the only coincidence of the evening, either.

I had noticed when I first visited Batch on his home turf that while we don't live on the same street, we share a street number.  Like I said, I noticed it, but didn't make a big deal out of it.

But last night was the first night Batch had made it all the way to my place on his own, and when he phoned up from the front porch to ask which number it was, and I told him, he was like, "no way!" Not only is his street number the same, but apparently it's his favorite number, and is significant for all sorts of reasons.

Don't ask me what it means, but it must mean something.


The catastrophic dreams, which had briefly abated, returned with a vengeance last night.  Thursday night Batch had a dream about an exploding blimp.  I was in it.   Not the blimp, the dream.  Maybe I was in the blimp, too.  Hmm.  Note to Self: must ask Batch if I was in the blimp.

I was under the impression that we were watching it crash-land from a distance, trembling in each other's arms, perhaps, our clothes ripped to shreds after my having heroically rescued him from having to hover above the Fenway forever.  But I may be embellishing that bit. 

He didn't actually see it crash-land, he told me.  Just the explosion, and the plume of smoke issuing from the wreckage.

Saturday morning we breathed a sigh of relief.  No catastrophes to report.  I thought it was one of those breakthrough moments.  But victory over Batch's subconscious proved illusory, and this morning he had another mechanical misadventure to report.

You may recall the first sleep-over yielded no less than three disturbing dreams, one of which had to do with Batch's truck falling apart as he drove along.  Well, last night his sister was with him in his dream lorry, and the vehicle got stuck in reverse. 

"We backed up right into an intersection," Batch told me as I sat breathless waiting for the worst, "and started spinning round and round in circles, until we were both thrown from the truck."

Oh, God, here it comes, I thought.  You might as well charge me now with double dream-vehicular homicide.

But they were both OK, he hastened to add. 

I was relieved, let me tell you.  I certainly don't want to be responsible for dreams of death and dismemberment, even if it is accidental.  Batch doesn't seem to think the dreams are my fault, and I don't want to seem presumptuous by suggesting they might be.  But what else could account for so many of them whenever I'm around?   

I myself rarely have bad dreams, at least as far as I know.  I don't remember them if I do.  But I'm afraid his dreams may start catching.  I mean, if I was in that blimp... 


While we here at masspurgation.com don't often make mistakes (sometimes we do get our dog breeds a little mixed up, it's true), in our March 1st offering on the gentle art of slogging, we incorrectly posted the following photo purporting to be the slog version of Bachelor Number Two (now known simply as Batch):


The error was due to our very old and febrile administrative assistant, the inimitable Ms. Mowcher, who we admit we only retain so that we can blame her for our mistakes (I mean, who ever heard of a Burmese Mountain Dog? Sheesh!) and because she does not require much tending to, as she is a breathairian.

The correct photo of Bachelor Number 2 which should have run (I mean, duh!), is:

We regret the error, and any pain it may have caused.