Before I can answer, he's already snatching up a roll of measuring tape from the table, like it's a wand he's about to cast spells with.
"A-alright," I murmur, awkwardly stepping forward.
He starts with my arms, looping the tape around my bicep, humming under his breath like this is the highlight of his week. He calls out a measurement to himself, but I completely miss the number because I'm too distracted by the shine coming off the top of his head. The fluorescent lights above us are hitting him at the exact wrong angle, and it's like staring into a mirror aimed at the sun. I have to blink a couple times to stop myself from squinting.
Great. First day in weeks that someone's actually taking my measurements, and I'm getting blinded by baldness. Figures.
