PS, I Love You by Ife Watson
You sang and whistled to yourself as you lathered your body in the bathroom that morning. As you climbed out of the bath tub, your feet slipped and your head hit the hand basin hard. You yelped in pain and went to the mirror to check your face. You saw a lump; the size of a guinea fowl’s egg on your forehead. You were not one to wallow in self-pity, so you went to the freezer to get some ice to put on it. As you entered the room, you hit your right foot against the chest of drawers. This time, you groaned in pain like a bitch dog in labour. You snapped your fingers in a swift motion around your head and threw your fingers backward into the air.
