‘You’ve definitely improved,’ I said, swallowing the slightly lumpy mash, ‘But I’m still better.’
A stunned silence followed. She looked at me, the smile morphing into confusion, then deep hurt.
Oh God, why would I say that?
‘Oh, okay,’ She shook her head and put on a shaky smile, ‘I mean, I don’t mind some constructive criticism, but that was a crappy way of putting it.’
I nodded, surprised at her language.
Fix this, I begged myself.
‘You never mince your words with me,’ I hear myself saying, ‘So why do I need to with you?’
This time a bitter smile settled on her face as she slowly rose from her chair.
‘Really?’ She pointed at the mantlepiece, where my self-portrait hung. ‘If I didn’t mince my words, I’d tell you I fantasize about burning that abomination every time I look at it. Who even hangs a portrait of themselves anyway? I live here too, where’s my place on the mantlepiece?’
She stomped her foot –stomped her foot– and left the room, face full of fury.
I stuttered to myself for a few minutes, looking down at the lumpy mash to try find answers.
What on Earth is going on?
‘What’s wrong with my portrait?’ I bellowed, standing to follow her out the room.
Watching from her realm, Chiqap giggled and settled down to watch the show. There was going to be a lot of break-ups and files for divorce before the twenty-four hours were up.
Scribbled Thoughts 