The Ultimate Question

Obviously, she had the tennis racquet. It, of course, goes without saying that those who had called into question her stance on the issue were now reconsidering their positions, especially as the power and accuracy of her serve were both more than a little well known in the local area. A few of the more sceptical of her interlocutors, though, did question the aerodynamic properties of the hand grenades she was preparing to serve, as opposed to the more usual tennis balls she was apt to use. But the more observant of us, watching from the sidelines, noticed that these sceptics tended to be more towards the rear of the opposition and each made sure of a clear line of exit before expressing any such doubts.

Those of us, though, who knew her better and therefore had a finer judgement as to her temper and inclinations, were already making our way out of range.

A few of those nearer the front of those she had already interrogated were starting to panic and, some even attempted to flee, but there she was poised and ready.

The silence grew as those facing her glanced from each to each in panic and desperation, knowing that there was no escape and that one of them would have to step forward and answer the ultimate question that has cowed mankind since the dawn of the species.

They turned to face her, sweat dripping, hands quivering, legs trembling in fear.

She looked at each one in turn. 'Well,' she said to her cowed audience. 'Does my bum look big in this?'