Occasionally, it still surprises me to learn that I'm (much) closer to my 30th birthday than I am to my 18th. But, for the most part, days filled with work, mortgages, petrol prices and the like are a sure-fire way to remind all young adults that they are no longer children (or students).
However, in some ways, I just can't grow up. Should I happen to find myself walking across a tiled or laminate floor in only my socks (as in I only have socks on my feet, not that socks are the only thing I'm wearing), I can't resist sliding or attempting my own interpretation of Michael Jackson's dancing.
Another wonderful facet of my childhood that won't be quelled by any number of grey hairs or pension contributions is my inability to eat properly.
Today, whilst sitting at my desk eating yoghurt, I managed, in the short journey from the pot to my mouth, to spill some on my trousers.
White yoghurt. Black trousers.
Despite a flurried spell of activity that involved various methods of attack, including wiping, dabbing and rubbing, my crotch now sports a lively white stain.
Suddenly, people I work with, none of whom has ever gazed at my crotch before, seem to be drawn almost without fail to glimpsing at this stain. This situation then prompts one of two responses:
A) Ignore the fact that the people I spend eight hours a day with are looking at my nethers and continue conversations regardless.
or
B) State, in a manner-of-fact fashion: "It's yoghurt, honest".
Maybe I need to bite the bullet and invest in one of these.
3 comments:
WTF? "Yoghurt" with an "H"??? No one ever stares at my crotchular area because my groodular area always manages to break the fall.
Spelling lessons from a resident of the country responsible for "color", "flavor", "center" and "aluminum"?! Good grief....
Woah, you just made me laugh! And it's not even 10am! Congratulations, you are shooting to the top of my favourites! Anyone who makes me laugh at this ungodly hour deserves some kind of medal, tbh...
Brilliant!
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