Kyra Dupont Troubetzkoy

The first lines ….

“For some time, Paul, who has recently become my” husband “, has been transformed into a machine to reproduce stereotyped formulas, and when he hits them, the same image instantly invades my brain: I transform myself into a kamikaze whose belt explodes in the middle of the Baghdad market, I’m breaking down, “Excuse me, would you be so kind as to return my arm behind the sofa?”

Yesterday, for example, to one of his male counterparts visit our apartment, Paul suddenly felt compelled to justify our move of a “Hmm … yes … because … we are waiting for a happy event … That’s it!”, sporting a knowing smile, all drowned in a kind of twist of neck he had hitherto hidden dexterity … “