Michael smoothed his hair down and felt the oily dryness through the dampness of his palms. He plucked a trailing hair from his nostril and blinked away the pain. He removed his t-shirt and grabbed a non-iron, flower patterned, dusky blue shirt from the sofa. He debated whether to leave two buttons undone or just one. He wondered whether to roll up his sleeves or button the cuffs. He decided not to tuck it in and allowed the skirt to cover his unexercised midriff. He felt as ready as he was ever going to be.