Becoming Presentable.

Guess what. I’ve been contacted by a journalist from the local newspaper. She wants to come out and talk to me tomorrow about my UFO sighting so she can write a piece about it.

Heavens! This means I’ll have to look out that comb I’m sure I’ve got lying about somewhere, to try and comb out some of the grease in my hair that hasn’t been cut or washed in the last year and a half. Maybe I could save it and use it to fry the eggs the next time I raid the local farmer’s hen house – do my bit for the recycling effort. And then there are my three-inch-long finger nails. I suppose I should cut them so she doesn’t think she’s walked onto the set of a remake of Nosferatu. (Better keep my mouth shut as well, come to think of it.) And what about the beard that occasionally drags in my soup and has to be sucked dry? Should I trim it?

Oh, my giddy aunt! What am I going to wear? I’ve forgotten where I’ve put my best sweater – the one that only has a few holes in it. And my one pair of jeans have a distinct Robinson Crusoe look about them these days. They don’t smell too good, either. Should I wash my feet? Will I remember how? Would it be advisable to remove the mucous stains from my moustache, and that curious brown stuff that clings to the insides of my ears?

Questions, questions...

Is it worth it?