Mr Bouncy Bounce

A colleague’s sister is due around the end of December, and she thinks her morning sickness finally finished last Tuesday. Doing a quick calculation in my head (which skews simple maths equations, but) I should be well on my way to feeling like myself again. It’s stories like this that keep me going from week to week, though I know my optimism can only hold out for so long.

In the meantime, I’m having difficulty sleeping, I’m not interested in much except for Big Brother UK and Walkers salt & vinegar crisps, and there is a temporary designer sat beside me who likes to bounce in his chair and stare at my chest.

Okay, I don’t know what precisely he’s staring at, but it’s somewhere in the vicinity of my self, and there is nothing in front of (or beyond) that self, so it’s a safe assumption that:

Bouncing + staring at women = pervert

That’s one equation I’m fairly confident I’ve worked out properly, at least in this instance. He’s gone in a day or two, but given that every day can feel like a month when you’re not sure if you’re going to be able to keep down breakfast (or lunch, or dinner), that feels like ages.

I promise I didn’t come here to complain though! What I really wanted to say was…

Nothing, I did just come here to complain. Soz.