Reasons for going into Gynaecology

She keeps mincing through the room. Her heels, stupidly high for the house, clatter backwards and forwards, spitting out pique and inarticulate frustration and intense dislike. The mood could, of course, be transformed in a moment. But I'm no longer interested in doing so. She goes from bathroom to suitcase to cupboard to suitcase, unnecessary, reduplicated journeys most of them, brandishing her departure in front of me. She hopes, transparently, that I'll stand up, yank her by the wrist as she goes past, tell her to stop the nonsense, and to sit down. But I'm watching porn, fairly soft porn, on the video, and I'm not even tempted to dwell on her pathetic charade. I imagine she looks at the film when she's behind me, she would say it's only curiosity. I would say that's crap. I would say she's a little tramp and would make a sly grab for whatever she can get. But she's cute enough not to let her step falter.