She’s there every morning, glaring down at me, when I open my eyes.
“If you’re going nowhere, neither is that extra chin”, she seems to say. “I have limits, you know. If we’re to ever get any closer, you should be out there, not hitting the snooze button repeatedly!”
She’s right, of course, my ideal dress size. I breached her boundaries a long time ago and won’t be fitting back in any time soon, unless I get out there and move. Every single day.
“And cut out the champagne while you’re at it, lardarse.”
By my calculations, transforming Matilda’s reproach into rapprochement is about 720 km away.