I turned the taps of the shower off and just stood there, drip drying, for an age. I’d been in here far too long, just running through the sheer impossibility of what I was getting ready for in my mind. Frankly, I’d hardly managed to do any real scrubbing; I was entirely lost in my thoughts. This day had been coming for weeks, months even, and I was no more prepared for it than I had been when she left. To hell with it though, I thought to myself, this was her idea. Then again, there’s no accounting for bad taste.
I inspected my own face in the mirror critically while I shaved, trying to find something there that a girl like her might be remotely interested in. Each drag of the razor deepened the mystery, as the shaving cream continually failed to reveal anything noteworthy. Maybe she just liked tall guys? I had that going for me in spades. That, and a lean frame were about the only things that sensibly played in my favor, and they still didn’t explain what *she* saw in me.