Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Friday, October 31, 2003

Fresh Meat

There’s a new guy in the office.

And while this isn’t a unusual occurrence in this fabulous media world in which I inhabit, this new accounting addition is a little different. When new boys start, there’s normally a scrabbling over the desks to see the new recruit by myself and the book girls, a polite bit of interest of “Hmm, nice smile,” before we all head back into the deeper reaches of Heat magazine. This new guy - it has been a world of difference. No comments. No appreciative wolf-whistles. And I have discovered why: this time we really all do fancy him.

It’s akin to poker. No-one wants to tip their hand, coquettishly hiding behind lever-files like they are regency fans. Over the last week, necklines have slowly been descending to nigh-on navel, and there’s enough lip-gloss going around to reconstitute back into a whale. We may have to put a tarpaulin down over the side of the office where the girls are as there’s a puddle heading towards accounts. After one of our bubbly book dept blondes kneeled by his desk, flicking her hair as she flustered over an accounting problem she knew bloody well how to solve, I’ve decided to move from the defensive to the offensive. He will be mine. I’m already making his voodoo doll dance to ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’ underneath the desk.

I idly wonder if you can get rohypnol on eBay?

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