Here she comes.
She stops in front of me: side on.
You’re doing that thing again. She dares not to look at me because she knows what I’m talking about as she begins to stare at the profile of her stomach.
It looks exactly the same as it did yesterday… and the day before that… and the day before that.
She keeps starring at it; pulling a face as if it is something to be disgusted at.
“That’s because it is.”
Great, she heard me. What happened to not making eye contact? Now, we’re going to have that same argument again. If it is really that disgusting, you wouldn’t be starring at it for so long.
“Neither would you.”
I’m only looking at it because you’re looking at it. There is seriously nothing wrong with it now please stop making me feel uncomfortable and leave.
There’s that look again.
“Are you sure it looks okay?” She asks me concerned although there are more important things to be concerned with…
Yes, it looks fine.
“How do you know?”
She asks the most ridiculous of questions sometimes.
Her eyebrow rises…
Ugh, because you think so and I say so…