Bread Clips

An excerpt from First Impressions.

I dated a man for about eighteen months who threw away the bread clips.

That was eighteen months of stale bread spilling out onto the kitchen floor, and yelling matches because all I wanted was toast. He always shouted back that I didn’t even like toast, and I swore at him that he was missing the point.

I was 19 years old, and my hair barely touched my shoulders; it was worn down and thin, coloured with many different hair dyes all over one another, because he could never make up his mind about what colour he thought suited me best.

And I was worn down and thin, stripped of all my colour completely.