Self control...

Working with the glorious general public has its moments, as I found out while helping in my lovely friend Emma's shop.

'When you say she is 'large', do you mean like me?  I'm fairly solid looking?'  Such was the question put to a customer shopping for his wife who was casing the joint for the perfect Christmas dress.  It shouldn't have taken him long to be fair.  There are at least three dresses in the shop which are perfect for Christmas Day.  I should know, I bought all of them and quite fancy doing a Mariah Carey with costume changes between the Prosecco and the sprouts and then between the After Eights and the Alka Seltzer.  

Anyway, I digress.  Back to the man shopping for a dress. I'd given him the opportunity to say whether his wife was smaller or larger than me, but what he actually said floored me.

'Yes, she's about the same as you.  A SIZE EIGHTEEN'.

Well.  I managed to keep smiling and was terribly polite and helpful, right down to suggesting that he take photos of the dresses I'd recommended.

When really, all I wanted to say (rather loudly) was,

'THIS.  DRESS.  IS.  A.  SIZE.  TWELVE.  YOU.  NUMPTY'...

So that was Friday, and on Saturday, it was the Binland Christmas Do.  A chance to spend some time with workday friends, and other employees which you never get to see on a normal day.  The night (and early morning) was spent with The Usual Suspects along with some fabulous chaps from our workshop.  Heavily tattooed and pierced, they broke every stereotype and were completely charming.  They were also rather impressed when I managed to get a particularly annoying bloke kicked out by the bouncer.  

I took a risk actually, because when the bouncer ran a finger across his throat, I did assume he meant the drunken bum who by now was neatly settled on my right shoulder and muttering something about 'never being a Millwall fan anyway'.  It could so easily have been me who was carted outside after my dancing took a turn for the worst, hovering somewhere between mum dancing and pole dancing depending on where I was on the Vodkometer...

It's a short week for me this week.  Mr W, (my young enough to be my son boss) has granted me Friday morning off having done a whole load of overtime over the past two weeks.

What's planned?

Sleep, probably, as I'll be up watching the election results through the night.

See, I can be quite grown up sometimes... 


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