Although she complained for ten minutes, she didn't talk to me for the next week. By which time I had healed a fair bit and could move on my own. Still without clothes and shoes, though.
As a result I drenched myself in deodorant, trying to feel majestic like British people from the 19th century, and carried on outside in the same wears as before. Pink power reigns supreme.
I wonder if that girl really is waiting for me?
Hmm...I should learn how to do a few tango steps. Just in case.