Apology

I think I might owe Stense an apology.

OK, I know I owe Stense an apology:

She and I talked with each other on the phone last night. I was feeling very tired, and my brain wasn't working properly—which is my only excuse really. We were talking about the last time we saw each other, when we went out for a meal at a posh(ish) restaurant. I was trying to be complimentary, for Pete's sake, saying that she had dressed very smartly, whereas I had let the side down by dressing a bit too casually. But what I actually said—I don't know what came over me—was:

"I looked like a pimp."

Which naturally made Stense assume that I was implying that she had looked like a prostitute—which, in her good-natured way, she laughed off.

Stense, if you're reading this, please accept my humble apologies. You looked extremely sophisticated and elegant that evening. I am truly sorry that I inadvertantly implied that you looked like a prostitute. For the record, you did not look anything like a prostitute.

Not even a very high-class one.

See also: Look, I said I was sorry!


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