I have a brother. He and his friend, a Tim Allen type, comes by. They are carrying some items of importance to them. Ceramic figures in a box. We three go down a road carrying this box carefully. It is important to them nothing gets broken. This has to do with a sport they love and maybe play. Tim is playful and silly. We walk a long way. Then the pieces become rattled and more damage to some of them. My brother and Tim are upset. I sigh. I have no respect for Tim's sports antics and jokes. My brother wants me to like his friend. It is night and we find a tiny light to see how bad the damage is to the ceramic figures. We go up to a house and use their porch to pull the figurines out. I work carefully to try and fix them. Tim keeps up a steady patter of silly talk and finally says something that offends me. I refuse to speak to him. He keeps trying to get me to talk to him, conjoling me and teasing. Now we are carefully packing all the figures back in the box. I am relieved we didn't wake up the owners of the house. My brother calls in a few more of his sports buddies to help us carry all these things. I find one more figurine on the porch. I wrap it carefully in the box. The new friend now does a rhythm thing and a chant. My brother says it is important, like a blessing on the box of figurines. He wants me to not be such a grump and join in. I grudgingly try to chant and listen. Tim wants me to be a good sport.