A is for First Date

Tam Goth gazed into the long mirror and gulped. He was shocked at
how he had aged. Tam was just 26, but what he saw staring back at him
was the face of a 29-year-old.

He studied his ageing features closely. Those tiny grey flecks in his
hair were new. Those telltale lines at the corner of his eyes, they
hadn't been there a month ago.

Then he caught sight of his lips. He noticed they were scarred and
pitted, but that wasn't all. Within the pits were small craters, and
within the craters a fine, dusty deposit. Into his mind drifted a
poignant phrase.

"I've got lunar landscape lips," he said. "I've got them lunar landscape lips."

He stepped back to study his whole frame in the mirror.

In some ways, he had to admit, he looked like a woman, but not a modern woman. No, he had the slightly under-evolved body of a female from the stone age.

Right on cue, musical inspiration came to him and he began to sing in a hoarse, bluesy voice.

"I've got them lunar landscape lips and them Wilma Flintstone hips," he rasped. "Lunar landscape lips and Wilma Flintstone hips."

As he sang, he beat out a wild rhythm on his skull, the music growing louder and louder. So loud he wanted to cover his ears, but couldn't
because he needed his hands for the drumming.

"I've got them lunar landscape lips and them Wilma Flintstone hips. Lunar landscape lips and Wilma---"

Silence.

Tam had just noticed something else. Written across his forehead in blood red letters was the word 'MURDERER!'

Now he was starting to have doubts about his appearance. Was it good enough, he wondered, for a first date?

Before he could think of an answer the doorbell rang. It must be Nyreeeeeta.

They had only spoken once before on the phone. Her voice had had that medium blue, underlined quality he admired. A bit like a hyperlink, he thought. But what would she be like in the flesh? And how would she react to him?

Tam was both embarrassed and shocked by his predicament, but no one would ever know. While the embarrassment was turning his face red, the shock was turning it white. The two processes cancelled each other out, with the result that his cheeks looked completely normal.

Again the doorbell rang.

He wanted to ignore it. But that would have been rude.

Reluctantly, he made his way downstairs. As he approached he could hear Nyreeeeeta frantically bashing at the door. Her powerful fists sounded like machine gun fire, as they pummelled out their message of eagerness on the cheap woodwork.

"Be patient, I'm coming," he called.

"And with me I'm bringing my lunar landscape lips and my Wilma Flintstone hips. My lunar landscape lips and my Wilma Flintstone---"

Suddenly the bashing stopped. In its place was the sound of footsteps receding into the distance.

MORAL OF THE STORY

Never date a woman whose name contains five consecutive vowels.