Foot in it

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“You’ve really grown into that face,” George said.

“What does that even mean?” Josie replied.

“It means,” George hesitated, “It means…”

“Yes.”

“Nothing, forget I even said it.”

“No, come on, you haven’t seen me for a year, and that’s the first thing you say to me.”

“It was meant to be a compliment, I just mean you look good.”

“But you don’t grow into a face, do you? You grow into a sweater or a coat.” The penny dropped. “So, you’re saying I’ve put on weight.” She put her hands on his hips.

“No, that’s not what I meant at all, you’re looking fantastic.”

“How does you’ve grown into that face, tell me I am looking fantastic? Hey Tina, how would you react if someone said you’d grown into your face?”

Tina stopped, three drinks in her hand. “I’d probably slap them hard,” she said and went off to find her friends.  

“See, so unless you tell me what it means,” Josie lifted her hand.

“Just that…” George scratched his ear.

“Yes.”

“Well… you’re aging well.”

“You’re saying I look old.” Josie dummied the slap. George flinched.

“No, you’re twisting my words. Look last year you were well, you always had beautiful features but somehow, they didn’t quite fit, you were a bit… gawky. But now you’re drop dead gorgeous.” George turned his head just in time so it was just Josie’s finger nail that caught his cheek. He checked for blood.

“You’re a dickhead.”

“What did I say?” George said, but it was too late she was gone.