When I sauntered into work today, dressed up in red lipstick and a Burberry scarf, in anticipation of meeting ascot-sporting higher ups who had flown in from Paris, the chocolate truffle was not sitting at his desk. Instead, it was his colleague, the nice Mexican man with the moustache. Oh what relief not to have to avert my eyes and pretend I'm checking my stocks on the overhead projector TV thingie. But at 5pm, as I excited the elevator into the lobby, there sat Jabba the African Hutt with a wide grin on his toady face. I almost tripped. Then I simply walked on, fat and all.
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