As usual, I was up before Angela. I didn't actually have to be up as early as her, but we always had to do this. Just in case.

I didn't mind. In the usual event that I wasn't needed, I could just take my time. Read the daily, cook a slow breakfast, and pick out each individual crumb when I floss.

Just as I left the shower, on tempo, the alarm on Angela's side went off.

"Up now, love."

"Mmmph." She retreated into the quilting.

"C'mon." I moved the covers away, to find that it was another timely morning.

"Ack, alright." She leaned forwards, stretching her arm stumps into the air. "Bloody hell."

"You say that every morning."

"Every long morning. The rest now."

I pulled the covers further forward, to see her legs just as shortened. She had no elbows or knees yet.

"Right, then. Coffee?"

"Yes, yes."

I carried her over to the living room, and pushed the coffee table out of the way, laying her down flat.

"I'll get you something."

As I made the coffee, I looked at her doing her exercises. She basically made fast "starfishes" with her abbreviated limbs. Getting the blood moving and expanding her limbs.

Sometimes, on a good morning, she'd only have to shake out her hands and feet, sometimes she'd wake up whole. The no-limbs ordeal was almost once a week.

Funny thing, quite often we find ourselves sleeping in on the weekend, like most people do. For Angela, the extra sleep can result in her being more compressed. Yesterday, she woke up no breasts or pelvis. Funny morning, that:

"Ahhhh. Hey Daniel?"

"Yea?"

"I think you might have to shake me out!" She smiled, always taking it lighter than you'd expect.

"Of course dear."

I rolled over, kissing her, then peeling the covers away. A strange sight, her bottom ribs being her lowest point, and her reasonably sized breasts being flattened out to no-nippled pads of skin.

"Hmm, how did we do this last time?"

"Well," She turned, her black, shiny hair creating a textured surface which framed her beautiful face. "I think I was hung to dry." She bit her lower lip to punctuate the metaphor.

There was actually a time before, where I just held her to my chest and jumped up and down, and that got some stumps out after I burned maybe 700 calories.

Now, she does a neck hang. Not like a deadly one, but when the rest happens where the back of her skull meets her neck, looking up, with the tension end of the rope just touching her chin. It's a little slow, but it's fine if I help take some pressure off, but since her weight is so low when she needs it, it's not so bad.

There was another time, where she had a very bad flu. If it were a mere cold, she'd at least manage to keep her torso by moving a bit throughout the day, but the last flu she had kept her bed ridden.

"You should eat something dear."

"Uuuuhhhhgg."

"C'mon."

I brought her, along with the basket to the kitchen, and fed her manually. A flu usually meant being reduced down to her chest, but often her head.

The coffee timer rang, snapping me out of it.

I brought it over to her.
"Thanks dear." Her starfishing had managed to produce her limbs almost to their primary joints. She took the coffee between her stumps, taking a careful sip. The caffeine usually made her shakeout go a little faster.

We were making decent time, so Angela commanded me to make her oatmeal, rather than "lazy toast." It didn't feel right to argue.

I had to stay over the stove, stirring to keep the consistency. By now, Angela had worked up a sweat from her shaking. She'd shimmied out of her oversized t-shirt and exposed her chest, and began to do crunches, trying to touch her right elbow to her left knee and vice-versa.

By the time the oatmeal was done, she'd managed to produce half of her forearms and most of her lower legs.

"Thanks love."

"You'd do the same for me." She said between breaths. We ate our breakfast in silence; not so much because or relationship was dead, far from it. I just enjoyed watching her do something I could never imagine, while she recovered from her intensive morning workout.

Using the capitulum of her elbow, she'd grab the spoon and go at it. It looked a little awkward, but it was all she needed.

Sometimes, if she were in a rush, she'd shake out her legs extra hard, causing her arms to stay fairly short. There was another morning where this happened.

"Ange', it's quarter-to the bus, are you going to be alright?"

"Yes! Bloody hell."

This time, she'd managed to shake her legs out in a jam after waking up an hour late, while her arms hadn't even gotten their elbows.

"Should I help you?" She was trying, and making a good effort, at buttering her toast using her feet. She was flexible enough, but lacked the coordination.

"Ugh! Yeah, whateva!"

I had to hand her bites while she went around the house, pushing cellphones, notepads, pens and other things onto the floor, and kicking them into her bag. She felt the need to forego boots that day, and opted for flats despite the cold weather that day. An amusing sight to see her furiously circling her shoulder stumps, jacket sleeves flying all over as she left the flat.

I was thrown back to reality again, this time by a clinking spoon.

As procedure dictated, I had to take off her underwear, cap her hair and giver a soap down in the shower. She was almost up to her wrists and ankles, so she did fine washing her face while I cleaned the rest of her.

She dried herself off, walking on her footless legs around the flat. I thought that it looked a little painful, but she insisted that there was some sort of padding between the bone and skin that made it painless.

She was sitting nude, still, on the couch when I brought her clothes to her, kicking the air to find her feet.

"Thanks dear."

"There's no need."

"I think there is. I'd have no chance of getting to work if you weren't here."

She kissed me, and caressed my face with her wrist.

I grabbed her bag, and hung it around her forearm.

"I'll see you after work dear!"

"Have a good day Ang'"

Off she went. Hold on.

"Angela!" I shouted out the window. "Your hands!"

She turned to me, smiling and giving me a rude, but cheeky gesture with a fingerless hand. Good thing she didn't take her chance with a watch.