If
you were ever going to get hit by a bus, the best time would be within the
first 6 months of a relationship. As you lay limp on the pavement you could
relax knowing that if the paramedics had to begin cutting away your clothes
they would discover a nice set of underwear. I wouldn’t go as far to say a
matching set but at least some sort of colour harmony between the two pieces and
more importantly a total lack of any discolouration or bits of loose elastic-like
worms coming out the seams. They would notice that your armpits were freshly
shaven, even the annoying hairs that reside in the armpit crater. Your lower
legs AND even your knees would be hairless. As they checked to see what limps
were broken they would notice skin that was super soft to the touch, exfoliated
to an inch of it’s life with a mitt and Moroccan apricots. If they had to cut
off your knickers they would behold ground maintenance that would make the lawn
master at Lords weep with jealously. Not a hair out of place.
If you
did actually die I would imagine that after guessing the time of death the
coroner would speculate how long you had been in a relationship. Speaking in to his Dictaphone, judging
by the complete lack of hair on the upper lip, bikini line and absence of any rouge
hairs around the nipples, I would put the relationship at 4-5 months. Give or
take’.
Don’t
get hit by a bus if you have been single for over two years. You would probably
rather die of internal injuries then let the surgeons gaze upon your saggy
off-white high-rise bikini briefs teamed with your favourite bra, the care
instruction label so eroded by time that only a couple of numbers and letters
could be made out. Not a good way to go.
