I really should have seen this coming. That he would turn my sartorial intuition to myself.
Reading myself wasn't the problem, but the things… the words that I would discern from my attire - that was the problem.
While reading, lying wasn't an option. It usually feels like the words just tumble out of my lips, giving me no chance to add or remove.
"Is there a problem? Does this intuition of yours, not work on you?" he asked, grinning.
He had me exactly where he wanted and no escape route was in sight.
"Of course, it works on me. Just give me some time" I said in response.
"Time," he mused, "to do what exactly, to take in your appearance or cook up what to say in the name of 'reading'"
"Neither. My reading offers no room for lying or making things up"
"Great, so get on with it, what does your attire say about you?" he asked, leaning forward, his dark eyes gleaming in anticipation.
