in the urban jungle

Strolling with the Hippy Chick through Dublin.
Trying to hold in my pot belly. Bloody impossible. It insists on hanging out there.
The Hippy Chick is so delicately built that beside her my own features seem even more rough hewn than ever.
Presently Rowena demands to know why I keep squirming.
"It's my belly," I confess frankly. "I'm trying to hold it in."
She is genuinely touched.
"You don't have to do that for me," she says with a hint of tenderness. "I love you just the way you are."
The noble Heelers faces her.
"I'm not doing it for you," I whisper. "There's two sexy Japanese girls walking behind us."
Rowena is less amused by this remark than you might expect.
With some elan and no little strength she directs a punch into my pot belly.
"What was that for?" crieth me.
"Don't push it," answereth she.
If I've learnt anything in life, I've learnt not to push it when this lady tells me not to push it.
That and not to rush off drawing cartoons without consulting Medbh Gillard every time an idea pops into my head.
Such wisdom only comes with time...