“Ow! My lip is still sore,” I said trying to keep my top lip from stretching too much as I spoke.

“Oh, you poor girl, even a thin cut is painful in such a tender place,” answered Chris turning away from the television screen to look at me (we were on the sofa).

“I can’t think how it happened. Maybe a bramble thorn caught me unawares when I was out walking the dogs today,” I pondered, still keeping that upper lip as tight as possible.

“You remind me of Ronald Fraser,” Chris smiled.

“Oh no!,” I cried, making my mouth into an even smaller “o” shape. “Have you ever kissed someone with a really small mouth?” I continued.

“No, but I can imagine,” Chris laughed.

“Well, I have – his name was Dino. He was Italian, quite good-looking but the first kiss was enough,” I informed.

“I remember you telling me,” said Chris. (When you’ve been married for nearly seventeen years most things from the past have been told already.)

“Do you think it’s politically incorrect to say that someone has a small mouth?” I wondered.

“No, I shouldn’t think so – not yet,” Chris said and added, “but you could be accused of bad-mouthing someone!”