Bob almost visits the dog box.
I made the fatal mistake of trying on clothes yesterday. In town. In a horribly lit changing room. A changing room without a lock so I had the added pressure of making sure nobody would open the door and catch me sans clothes.
Any woman worth her salt will know the feeling of dread, dread at perhaps having to go on a regime of denial and only by the skin of her teeth, pulling herself back from the vortex of that stupidity. How about feeling happy to be alive, healthy and voluptuous.
An hour later while driving to the supermarket I posed a question to Bob. One of those trick questions that wives are very good at posing. Or am I the only one?
" Schatzi, do you think I should lose a few kilos? " " No, you don't need to lose any but I should lose some weight too. "
He knew the minute he appended that little word, that a gargantuan mishap had occurred. Naturally I grabbed onto it with both hands and instantly banished him into the Siberia of any marriage...the dog box where silence is golden. Silence that one can cut with a knife.
Look, he's not wrong but I would have liked for him to mention his love of voluptuousness...the trip to Siberia lasted until he had parked the car. Bob did try to bravely delete those three little letters but after a while he gave up and let me ramble on for a bit and periodically drop a soothing one liner:
" Honey, there is nothing wrong with you. "
Bob is rather clever of course. He knows that should I start on a regime of denial, he would be affected too as he would have to eat the same as me.