While Ayia spent hours finding the perfect outfit, Theo was getting ready for the date as well. But his process was much simpler, as he already knew what he would wear.
The steam from Theo's shower, a valiant but ultimately unsuccessful attempt at transforming his bathroom into a tropical rainforest, finally dissipated. Theo, a man whose grooming habits could best be described as "functional," emerged. He hadn't exactly scrubbed himself raw, but neither had he employed any advanced exfoliation techniques. His hair, a mass of silver mop that perpetually defied gravity, was still damp, clinging to his forehead like a determined seaweed.
His internal monologue, meanwhile, was a fascinating blend of anticipation and mild panic. "Right, date with Ayia. Impress her. Don't trip over the cat. Don't spill anything on my shirt," it chattered, the mental equivalent of a particularly nervous squirrel.
