JUST ANOTHER BORING AFTERNOON IN THE THEORETICAL STAFF ROOM

“Bugger string theory,” said Starbucks. “I’ve got something better.”
“Wet dog blanket theory?” said Dr. Barking-Up-The-Wrong-Tree, long a protagonist in the line of thinking that believed sniffing butts was a higher art form.
“Shoelace theory?” asked the Professor of 11th dimensions, the latest addition to the academic faculty.
“Shoelace theory!” snorted the Deacon, preparing a verbal roundhouse kick. “What century are you from, man. I don’t know how it works in the 11th dimension...”
“No one does, Deacon,” interjected Professor Titwhistle, “that’s the point.”
Everyone knew the Deacon didn’t care much for the Professor of 11th dimensions, mostly because he could never pin the man down to a proper answer.
“Where is the 11th dimension anyway?” asked Starbucks.
“Up my arse,” muttered the Deacon.
“It’s after the 10th dimension but just before the 12th dimension, which hasn’t been discovered yet,” said Titwhistle sagely. “Like an aura or the smell of bad feet wafting through an overcrowded auditorium.”
“Hmm,” mused Dr. Barking-Up-The-Wrong-Tree. “Do you think dogs get dogma? Or is that a bone of contention.”
The rest of the staff room continued to ignore him. Truthfully, most of them didn’t even know he was there. Dr. Barking-Up-The-Wrong-Tree was an anomaly, covered in fleas and generally only skittish in the presence of the house cat. His singular claim to fame was his very own wet dog blanket theory as yet unproven and rather lacking in practical substance.
“So what is this theory of yours lad?” said the Professor Titwhistle, addressing Starbucks directly. “Stronger than gravity I hear.”
“Oooh,” wailed the Deacon sarcastically, “stronger than gravity. As if!”
“Deacon!” scolded Professor Titwhistle, “if you don’t cease this childish performance there shall be no chocolate ice cream. Do I make myself clear?”
The Deacon, seeing the look in the Professor’s eyes, went quiet.
“Starbucks, continue,” said Professor Titwhistle.
“Well, it comes from somewhere mysterious...”
“The 11th dimension?” interrupted the Professor of 11th dimensions.
“A dog box?” said Dr. Barking-Up-The-Wrong-Tree.
Starbucks made the shape of a heart between his thumbs and index fingers, the way that some soccer players do when they score a goal (even if it’s a fluke), and held it there.
“Is that a peach twisted into obscurity over time?” inquired Professor Titwhistle.
“It’s a heart,” replied Starbucks patiently. “I’m talking about love.”
“Love is stronger than gravity?”
“Indeed,” smiled Starbucks. “Love is the antithesis of everything that gravity stands for. Where gravity holds, love flies. Where gravity binds, love explores. Where gravity contrives to keep the world in its place, love lets the world be whatever it wants to be. Love is the hope that lifts the melancholy, the star that opens up the night...”
“A wet dog’s blanket,” shouted Dr. Barking-Up-The-Wrong-Tree happily.
“A map on how to find the unknown,” beamed the Professor of 11th dimensions.
“Exactly,” said Starbucks. “Love is all that and so much more. Love is the answer.”
At this the staff room erupted in applause. It just so happened to be one of those afternoons, almost as good as the time the Deacon thought he was the Norse wolf Fenrir and tried to shove an entire vanilla sponge into his mouth but no-one mentioned that anymore. Some things are best left unspoken