Right now, all my body is to Michael is a car crash after childbirth and a milk machine keeping our baby alive. I am functional, not sexual. Maybe all I have to do is make him look twice?

While Risky is in the toilet, I use my arms to push my boobs together and create a cleavage. I take a selfie with a seductive pout. It does not turn out how I expect it would. My boobs look lop-sided and my eyes deranged. Risky takes selfies at her desk all the time, she makes it look so easy. I try again. Even worse. My lips don’t look sexy. I look like I’m trying to scratch my nose with my mouth. I go for more of a smile, but that’s just weird. How do people make this look so natural?

‘Boss, what are you doing?’ Risky asks, coming out of the toilet. I hadn’t heard her flush. Did I miss it? Weird. Anyway, I put my phone down and give up.

‘Were you taking a selfie?’ Risky almost whispers it, like she’s discovered my dark secret.

‘I may have been.’

‘Wow, I’ve never seen you take a selfie, ever. Were you going to post it?’

‘No, I was going to send it to Michael,’ I say, sounding ridiculous. ‘But I look like a deformed butternut squash in them so let’s just move on.’

‘No way. I am the selfie queen. I’m going to teach you.’

This is ridiculous.

‘Risky, we have a high profile wedding in under three weeks. We do not have the time for a selfie masterclass,’ I say, actually really wanting to know how to make myself look sexy in a photo.

‘Tough. It’s happening.’ Risky sits at her desk and holds her phone in her hands. ‘OK, copy everything I do. Hold your phone up a bit, you’ll look thinner.’

I do as she says, and hold the camera around twelve inches higher than my face.

‘OK, now look at it like it’s just caught you masturbating but you don’t mind because you kind of want it to join in.’

‘What? Risky, come on!’

‘What? There is nothing wrong with masturbating. I just masturbated in the bathroom. So don’t be ashamed of pretending to masturbate, that’s just crazy.’

I put my phone down.

‘I’m sorry, you just what?’

‘I just masturbated in the bathroom. I do it loads at work. It gives me a burst of energy in the afternoon. It’s better than a Mars Bar, isn’t it?’

‘Better than a Mars Bar?’ Sometimes I think Risky is another species.

‘I guess so,’ I say, and I must look a little disgusted because she somehow feels the need to continue talking about masturbation.