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?'