“Yeah, well, I don’t have a rugby-shaped head,” Gibsie grumbled. He looked to Johnny. “Do I?” “No, Gibs.” Johnny sighed. “Your head’s not shaped like a rugby ball.” “Really?” He touched his head self-consciously. “Because I weighed like twelve pounds when I was born, and my mam’s always bitching to her friends about how I wrecked her with my big head.” “It’s a perfectly normal head, Gibs,” Johnny coaxed. “Very circular.” “Not too big?” “You grew into it,” he assured him. “Fits you fine now.”
