I wake to twinkling sunlight illuminating my room.

I sit up and stretch my arms, yawning and rubbing my eyes as I come to…. In a bed that’s not my own.

Whipping my head side to side, I’m now wide awake and confused as hell. I yank my legs out from under the covers and my heart almost stops. Those legs shouldn’t be attatched to me. I search the room and find a full length mirror hanging on the wall.

I stare into it at myself. Or rather, not myself. The reflection staring back at me is entirely different and at this point I’m about to have a melt down. Ok, ok, I think to myself, inhaling calmingly. You can’t have a heart attack and die at this moment because people finding you dead in boxers would be worse then whatever this is, I tell myself.

Grabbing the t shirt and jeans that are folded neatly on the dresser, I tug them on and swing open the door. Clearly some part of my freaked out brain still functions because I register that I’m in a hotel.

And there’s scary looking men in suits outside my door. I startle and flinch back as they turn to face me.

“Mr. Charles,” one intones in a deep, smooth voice with a Nigerian accent.

“Wh-who?” I stutter, like an idiot of course.

“Ah! Mr. Charles, perfect timing! The taxi leaves in five so chop chop! The venue managers absolutely insist on starting right on the dot so no time to waste!”

A preppy looking thin man hustles towards me, grabbing my elbow and unceremoniously starts dragging me down the hallway. I speed walk to keep up with his obviously caffeine/fueled hustle. I hear the thumps of the scary men’s shoes behind us in the hallway and a glance backwards confirms them following us closely with serious expressions on their faces.

“In here, right here, here we are!” The man exclaims in his slight, cheery British accent.

I’m ushered into an elevator and, a second later, into the backseat of a taxi. The driver takes off immediately, speeding down the road while my new English friend chats away about something or other.

My head is spinning and before I know it I’m spit out of the taxi and onto a city sidewalk. British man escorts me inside a theater, where I’m guided past a line of adults filing slowly into an auditorium.

“What’s going on?” I manage to ask in between being shoved into rooms and having makeup brushed on my face.

“Ah, Mr. Charles! Ever the comedian, along with your brilliant philosophical spouts!”

Philo… what?

Before I can blink I’m backstage and a heavy set man is announcing things to the growing audience through a microphone.

“And now, the greatest philosopher of our century, Mr. Charles Puter!”

I’m practically shoved on the stage and it all clicks together. The stool dead center. The microphone in front of it. The hushed crowd staring at me with expectant eyes. Crap.

I inhale, my mind scrambling to put together something smart and nerdy to say.

“Um… life. Yeah, life is… hard,” I stutter.

Gosh I sound like an absolute idiot.

“Think about it like… a marshmallow. Yeah… um, like even if you burn it, it’s still… it’s still, um, it’s still good on the inside. You know, no matter how crispy the outside is. Unless the marshmallow falls into the fire then um… yeah.”

I’m literally making an absolute fool of myself. And yet the people sit quietly, waiting for my next words. Probably about burnt marshmallows. Idiot.

“And you know, you can do it… and try. Yeah you can um… try hard and do good. You’ll be fine. Yeah… uh… do good!”

I glance over at my British person in the curtains, who taps his watch and mouths “30 seconds.”

I roll my shoulder back and turn to face the crowd again. I can yap aimlessly for 30 more seconds.

“So do something fun today. You gotta um… have fun. And be… a good marshmallow…”

Great, I’m back to the marshmallows.

In my perephrisl vision, I see Mr. British guy counting down. 3…2….1. Done.

I exhale and flash a double thumbs up to the crowd. And then I’m left in shock.

One by one the audience members stand up and begin to applaud my stupidity. Soon the auditorium echoes with the whistles, claps and praise of my audience. I warily take a bow and smile to the fools clapping for me and my made up act.

Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week.