Top Secret. Not For Sir Toby

So just to get at the meat of the subject, no beating around the bush, no lolly-gagging or shuffling about on this one. No avoiding the inevitable, as they say. No tip-toeing around it, I suppose. I might as well just come out and say it. I know why I am here. I am not about to make any claims to intellectual brilliance or even the possession of smartish thoughts. I admit that words like Pourquoy leave me rather flummoxed, and I know that my caper is more of a hop than anything else. I know that only a very particular taste finds my hair attractive, and I happen to possess that palate. But the point is, I have realized that Sir Toby needs me. Truly needs me.
Sure, you might say, he’s nothing more than a prop, comic relief, a goofy-man for Sir Toby to have by his side, and you are exactly right. I am a prop. I walk into a room, trip on a banana, mix up words or say the wrong thing, and Sir Toby beams. I know that I am here so that he can always have a reason to smile. And as far as I am concerned, there is not a more important role for me to carry in the world right now. I have never been this worried for a friend in my life. Ever since Sir Toby came back from his battling he has been nothing short of terrifying. He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t eat real food anymore, he doesn’t even bathe. All he does is drink, fight, and shout. The man does not know his own strength, and sometimes I worry that he might kill one of Mistress Olivia’s stewards. He doesn’t know that I know this, but my room is next to his and whenever I can shake him off long enough to get a bit of sleep, I think I can hear him crying next door.
My friend is falling apart at the edges, and I may be an asse, but I can see what is right in my nose. So I have come to be with him. Now, please don’t get me wrong here. I think that Mistress Olivia is as fair a woman as ever there’s been, and she is gentle and I am sure there exists some kindness in her. And I would have no qualms about marrying a woman of her caliber, not in the slightest, but she is not the only reason for my board in this mansion. Whenever Sir Toby get in one of his moods and he begins to hit tables and break glasses and his voice makes those terrible moans, I know then that he needs me by his side. So I put on my cap, force a smile, stumble to his side and pretend to be even dumber than I really am. I caper, I fall over, I let him know that he is still in control of something or somebody in his life. I like to make him smile, and sometimes he even laughs. He needs me. And I need him to need me like he does. I am not trying to say that I am smart or wise or worldly, but I am a bit more aware than people tend to give me credit for. Right now, I am worried about my friend, but I have faith that with enough laughs and maybe with enough drinks, the moaning will end and Sir Toby will sleep one of these nights. And then maybe I can get on with my hobbies.