The title gives it away. This past week I’ve been sharing my office with ‘the new lady’. It would be alright if the only thing I’d have to do is keep my “explicit lyric” music down a notch or two…but it’s more than that. At regular intervals throughout the day I get charged at, her arms are flung around me, she presses her cheek to mine and asks me if I’m alright, if I’m crying, if I have been crying or if I’m about to start crying?? Well, yeah…keep that up and I’ll be in tears in no flippen time, now leave me the hell alone. I’m not sure what all of the concern is about, does she WANT me to cry?
But no, I ought to be more gracious and tolerant, she’s had a rough patch and I should be more kind. I did, however, warn them that I thought she might be a little on the touched side, but they wouldn't listen...and now I fear for the future of my little front office...it was a happy place. Alas.
So in conclusion…next week I will contentedly continue to belt out “What a waster, what a fucking waster, You pissed it all up the wall, Round the corner where they chased her” along with dodgy, dirty Pete. What a poet, what a rock star.