I say, looking sadly into your bedroom mirror. “I never thought I’d get a gut.” “You haven’t got a gut.” “I have. Look, it’s there.” “Where?” “There.” “That’s a stomach.” “It’s a gut.” “Look, I’m a nurse. I’m practically qualified. It’s a stomach. You’re as neurotic as your sister, do you know that?” “No, I’m not.” You hold up the iron and blow a dismissive cloud of steam at me, before dumping it back down on the ironing board and continuing to nose around the buttons of your uniform. I turn and indulge myself in another look at my ugliness. I was always proud when I was a teenager to be able to hitch up my T-shirt and see—well, never quite a six-pack, but at least a pure, taut line from belt buckle to breastbone.
What do You think about A To Z Of You And Me (2016)?