You can’t ask me that: Why ‘How do I look is one’ of the hardest questions.
It’s Saturday night. You’re going out. You’ve been looking forward to this all week. You’ve got your glad-rags on. Your hair’s gone right. You blow a kiss to your reflection in the bathroom mirror and your reflection blows a kiss right back at you. You’re ready to go.
“Taxi will be here in 10 minutes,” you tell your loved one / flatmate / party partner for the evening.
“Nearly ready,” they assure you. You sit at the bottom of the stairs for the next five minutes, watching the little car icon on the cab app draw closer.
“Cab’s by the roundabout now!”
Four minutes to go. The cab’s just three streets away.
“Another minute!” comes a cry from the bathroom.
“Don’t forget they charge waiting time!” You try to hurry things along.
With two minutes to go, your party compadre finally appears and stands in front of you, wearing what looks like a butcher’s apron (clean) over a pair of lederhosen (possibly not clean).
They give a quick twirl and smile at you hopefully before asking one of the most difficult questions known to humankind.
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