"I fancy myself a new, new man," said Harold, his hands deep in the soapy suds of the washing up. "At least in the kitchen department."
"Ah! Not so keen on the nappies then?" Jasfoup made a few adjustments to his Bloodberry calendar, the stylus beeping as it moved across the screen. "You know you can get disposables, right? Use them once, throw them away, clog the earth with them for five thousand years...?"
"Yes." Harold smiled into the middle distance. "Gillian won't hear of it, of course. She got all palsy with that friend of yours."
"You'll have to be more specific."
"The pagan one with the shop. She's gone all green earth now."
"Ah! Meinwen." Jasfoup nodded as he stowed his PDA into a pocket. It beeped a few times when he closed the lid and he had to get it out again to check it still worked. "Hardly a friend, though she did a little work for me recently."
"Nothing that would interest you." Jasfoup smiled. Are you cooking dinner, then, Mr. New?"
"No," said Harold. "I'm such a new man I'm going to allow the guest to cook."
Jasfoup raised an eyebrow. "We have a guest?"
"Aye." Harold handed him a pinny. "What're you making?"
Image: The New Man: Masculinity After Traditionalism and Feminist Reaction