It is Thursday evening. Your legs are shaven, your own ‘1990s blowout is perfect, and you will you have invested the very last two hours watching ‘glowy makeup tutorials’ towards the YouTube. It’s time for the next Count time. Next, exactly as you will be about to walk out the entranceway, you get a text:

“Very disappointed to do so very last minute, however, I am nonetheless drowning from inside the work. Would you hate me if we reschedule?”

Naturally, your first effect are: I’m so more that it shi*t.