Every time I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a shop window I have to check.
Legs. Still there, apparently. Still thin even though I ate lunch today.
Every time I sit down on the toilet to *** I have to check.
Tailbone. Still protrudes a little, apparently. Still hasn’t disappeared, isn’t buried under fat even though I put milk in my coffee this morning.
Softly, gently My hands explore my back, tracing up along my spine because I have to check.
I wonder if I look a bit like a dinosaur illustration from a child’s encyclopaedia: you know, the one with the triangular bump-y things running along its back? Stegosaurus! That’s the one! (I had to Google it.)