“I wish you’d stop flexing in the mirror,” Billy commented, stuffing several potato chips into his awaiting mouth. “It’s ruining my meal.”

“Your meal?” Dom replied, an eyebrow raised in question. “You’re eating crisps, a chocolate bar and left over lo-mein.”

“When you have more than one type of food in one sitting, it is considered a meal,” Billy answered haughtily.

“Will you two stop bickering?” Orlando requested, turning away from his mirrored self to look at his friends and dropping his arms, which he‘d previously been flexing, to his sides. “You row like an old married couple, for Christ’s sake.” He turned back to the mirror, making pouty faces and then flexing his muscles every so often in different poses.

Billy crumpled up the empty bag of chips and tossed it over his shoulder into the wastepaper basket, “We should row like a married couple, as we have been married for over thirty years.”

“We haven’t even known each other that long,” Dom laughed. “I don’t know where you come up with this crap.”

“It’d be nice if you would stop speaking for at least five minutes because I’m trying to practice my sexy faces.” Orlando heaved a false aggravated sigh.

“Your WHAT?” Dom snorted. “I knew the pink shirts meant you were flamboyantly gay.”

Orlando looked disdainfully at Dom’s reflection in the mirror, who stared back looking grim with satisfaction at his accusation. “I’m not gay. I just like fashion. Those are two different things.”

“Most women say your fashion sense is a large part of your charm,” Billy said through a mouthful of chocolate. “What fashion sense, I wonder, but that is irrelevant.” He swallowed his mouthful and looked at Orlando’s outfit which consisted of a white, pirate-like dress shirt with ruffles and tight brown corduroys.

Orlando sniffed, “Fashion is only one….ninth of the overall percentages of my charm.”

“Did that even make sense?” Dom asked, looking at Billy. “I mean, we know you’re charming. Hell, you’re always the one the birds fall all over to dance with at clubs…but WHY exactly is that?”

“He has something we don’t,” Billy replied, looking thoughtful.

“Like what?” Dom questioned, sliding from the arm of the chair onto the chair itself.

“His body,” Billy suggested, cocking his head to the side and gazing at Orlando’s mirrored self as he tried out different charming smiles, to see which one he liked best.

“I AM rather fit,” Orlando mused, tapping his toe on the wooden floor to a beat in his own head. He was wearing spotless black dress shoes which only further demonstrated how much style he had.

Billy stood up and crossed the room to stand beside the much taller British man. “Item number two. The accent. Women love the accent.”

“Even British women?” Dom asked doubtfully.

“A second bit to that item could be his voice,” Billy replied politely. “An underscore if you will.”

Dom sighed, “Item three. His hair. They love the hair.” He sounded as if this hurt him greatly.

Orlando flashed a huge grin at the mirror, “I work hard to keep it looking immaculate.”

“It shows,” Billy remarked offhandedly. “Fourth item. Confidence. You have that air of confidence, but you’re not cocky. There’s a fine line between the two, and you don’t cross it. Blokes hate that about you. Dom included.”

Dom made a sour face, sticking his tongue out. “I’m funny,” he pouted.

“Yes, you’re hysterical,” Orlando agreed, strutting back and forth in front of the mirror, casting glances at himself every so often.

Dom stood and walked to stand beside Billy, who was surveying Orlando critically. “Item five. Humor. You have a very intriguing sense of humor that makes women go jello-ed around you. It’s disgusting, really.”

“Thank you, Dominic,” Orlando said, smiling widely.

“Don’t get a big head about this list,” Billy warned. “We won’t feel bad if we have to kick your arse and bloody you up.”

Orlando’s smile faltered slightly, “Right-o.”

“Your style can be item six. It consists of…how you wear whatever the bloody hell you wanna wear without caring what people think.” Dom flopped back onto the chair and grabbed for his can of soda before chugging some down.

Billy nodded, “Which is item seven. You don’t care what anyone thinks.”

“Why are you making this list?” Orlando laughed.

“To tell Dom why you’re popular with the opposite sex and he is not,” Billy responded frankly.

“Shouldn’t we be making a ‘Why Dom Sucks With Women’ list, then?” Dom requested, a hint of a grin on his lips.

Billy shook his head. “Item eight. I heard some bird in the grocer the other day saying how when you smiled at her, her knees went weak and she fell over and dumped all the cereal boxes onto the floor. Remember that?”

Orlando chuckled fondly, “Yes, but I wasn’t sure why the cereal fell in the first place. I feel sorry now that it was my fault. I should have helped her clean them up. Poor girl was awfully embarrassed.”

Dom put his hand up, “Number nine. Compassion.”

“Kindness,” Billy affirmed. “Sickening kindness.”

“Item ten will be the ending of the list, I hope, because I can feel my head swelling in spite of myself.” He stuffed half a candy bar into his mouth and chewed, making euphoric sounds in the back of his throat.

“Maybe there ISN’T a tenth,” Dom said, looking half hopeful and half sarcastic.

“Perhaps all-around attractiveness,” Orlando suggested, chuckling. “I was called by some reporter the other day saying that I’d won some poll of hottest male or something. I laughed in their faces and put the phone down.”

“Modesty,” Dom muttered.

Billy sighed and nodded, “Item number ten, the final item. You’re modest.”

“I’m just a really lovable bloke,” Orlando joked, smiling at them.

Billy and Dom picked up the nearest pillows and chucked them at him.

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