Friggin, stupid men.
Who needs them?
Not me that’s for sure.
After all, apart from the sex what else are they really good for? And lets be honest some of them can’t even get the sex bit right. I mean come on, how hard is it to keep going for 3 hours and make some multiple O’s happen whilst telling me I’m the best you’ve ever had in French? Exactly! Nothing to it abi and yet do I get that? Of course not. One ex had the nerve to say to me I was "Too demanding" and that there was nothing wrong with 10 minutes and a cuddle afterwards. 10 minutes!!!! It takes me that long to decide who I’ll be fantasizing about whilst the whole things going on. And as for cuddling…Totally overrated when the person cuddling you has just scratched his itch and left you wondering what the hell just happened? Nope! Don’t need em. I can change my own light bulbs thank you very much. I will throw myself into my work and breed chickens to fill my lonely hours. Chickens! What’s not to love? Unconditional clucky devotion and you can eat them when they piss you off.
I stroll into the office determined to be a better employee and put the last couple of weeks behind me. I reach my desk and lo and behold there is 6ft of gorgeousness sitting by it. I immediately suck in my tummy and thank God for forcing me to put make up on. I sashay up to my desk; sit down opposite him and kapow him with my 100 mega watt smile.
“Hi! Are you waiting for me?”
“Hi! I’m not sure. Are you Mena?”
“Yep! That’s me and you are?”
“My names ….."
(It’s got be Six Pack Guy).
"I’m the new Account Manager. “
Finally!!! My prayers have been answered. After months of petitioning HR via anonymous notes in the suggestion box, they have finally employed some eye candy for my department. Hello Six Pack Guy. How you doinnnng?? My self imposed ban on men will have to wait.
“Sorry to be camped out at your desk but it seems your HR department wasn’t quiet ready for me. So I was told to hang out with you and you would show me the ropes.”
God bless our incompetent HR department. I’ll show you the ropes alright. Right before I tie you to my headboard with them and make you my kinky slave.
Sorry! I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Pull yourself together woman.
I know Brain. We need to do something about my raging hormones. I’ve tried everything…Food, TV, going out, shopping, prayer and even fasting. But I just can't stop thinking about it. It’s all the time now. My mind is constantly playing naughty images in my head. If I was a dog I‘d be rubbing myself against every leg I could find. This is a disaster. I’m having a midlife kinky crisis. I’m all itchy and there’s no one to scratch it. Well there wasn’t until now.
Don’t even think about it Mena. We shall not be getting scratched by any one who gets paid by the same payroll as us. You’re just a bit stressed and hormonal at the moment. All that drama with BB boy has you frazzled. You’ll be fine.
But he’s so cute and muscly. Damn! Here comes Bad Weave. She’s bound to want him too. As a matter of principle I should be allowed to make my move before she tries anything Brain.
No! You no dey hear word?
Hey! What’s going on here? Bad Weave just walked past without so much as a lustful glance in Six Pack's direction. Something ain't right here. I turn to him and give him a quick once over. Nah! My nookie deprived brain isn’t playing tricks on me. He’s cute dammit! Why isn’t she interested? I know she has a boyfriend but that usually doesn’t stop her. Now I’m scared. Maybe her jazz has warned her about his hot self. He might be disease ridden, have a Johnson the size of a peanut (I wonder if there’s jazz that can tell you that? You know…Exciting equipment makes the crotch area glow green and a red flashing light tells you to run for dear life and sexual liberation. I need to look into that) or even worse, unable to keep me in shoes. I must investigate further.
I follow Bad Weave into the ladies room and find her sobbing uncontrollably. Her cheap Island cosmetics mascara is running down her face and one of her false eyelashes is literally hanging on for dear life. Under ordinary circumstances I would have whipped out my BB and filmed this for prosperity. You know something to cheer me up when I’m having a bad day but I had more pressing issues here. I needed to find out if Six Pack Guy was a potential play thing or if I needed to disinfect my desk and sepe on HR for tempting me with damaged goods.
“Are you OK Bad Weave? What’s the matter?”
She sniffs loudly, says something unintelligible and throws herself in my arms.
Eeeeewwwwwwwwwww!!!!! Personal space! Personal space dammit!
Oh my God!! she’s getting make up and bodily fluids all over my new Banana Republic silk tee. I need to bring this love fest to a close.
“There, there…everything’s going to be alright. Just sit here and tell me what’s wrong.”
I deposit her firmly on the loo and back up to a safe distance to listen to her pathetic tale of woe. I mean what could possibly be so wrong? Did her hairdresser run out of bad hair or maybe one of her sugar daddies wives finally gave her the beat down she deserves. Either way I’m only pretending to care so I know if it’s worth investing in a Brazilian wax before the weekend.
After several failed attempts to make out what she was saying through all the sobbing, the picture finally become's clear and let’s just say she needed to be crying a bit more than that. I actually considered shoving her out the window and helping her end it all.
Damn woman! How old are you again?
How could you have let all this happen?