I’m at work. It’s four-thirty in the afternoon. All is fairly peaceful in the office.Blonde Colleague:
Right. I’m off.Me:
[slinging bag over her shoulder] I’m away. That’s me.
Bit early. What for?
I’m a fat cunt.
I sigh inwardly. This is getting beyond a joke. It’s bad enough having to listen to her bang on about her latest diet all day every day
and pointing-out that her ‘weight issues’ are entirely imaginary – the only ‘issue’ she’s had of late has been losing too much and not really looking like a proper woman anymore but you can’t say that because they never believe you – but having to leave work early?
Anyway, I reply in the only manner a sane man would when faced with a woman describing herself as above.Me:
Oh no you’re not.BC:
I FUCKING AM AND THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT.
Look, you’re really not and you should just get over it.BC:
You can’t tell me what to do! This has been agreed and I’m going. Me
: Well there’s really no point. You should just accept things. You’re fine.BC:
You’re not a ‘fat cunt’.
This is getting a bit weird actually. Normally when you tell a woman they’re not overweight they melt a little bit and make you some tea. This is not going according to the template. I resolve to give it one last go.
I said you’re not a fat cunt.BC:
I know! And I’m off to Weight Watchers to make sure I stay that way. I’ll make up the time tomorrow.
Ah. Weight Watchers. That she often refers to as ‘Fat Club’.
: Oh. OH. Sorry. I thought you said “I’m a fat cunt”, not “I’m at Fat Club”.BC:
WHAT? YOU THINK I’M A FAT CUNT
Well, no, of course-
She storms out of the office. Every woman present glares at me.