Literature
The Bakers' Assistant: Part I
“Arne, what have I told you about bringing cupcakes into the flat?” my girlfriend shrieked at me, holding out the half-finished package of baked sweets at me in an accusatory manner.
I threw my hands up in exasperation. “I kept them out of sight. You wouldn’t have even discovered them if you hadn’t gone looking for that stupid mug.”
She made a disgusted sound in her throat. “How many times do I have to say that I don’t need the temptation and I don’t want you getting fat? Have a little self-control.”
The first thing that people notice about me is that I am short. Without shoes I stand 1,62 metres tall, which was the exact same height as my girlfriend down to the last millimetre. My girlfriend also had a physique that can best be described as petite, and expected me to have a similarly skinny build for the purposes of us looking like a perfect couple. Same height, same physique, similar names: Arne and Ana. A partnership for others to be jealous of.
But I had too much
