Mood Swings #2
Mid-morning and I’m feeling just ‘blah’. I’m not happy, I’m not sad. Just existing, doing ‘work’ things.
Liam The Tosser walks into the office and a glorious surge of pure hatred courses through me.
Liam, in his skinny-lapelled date-rapist suit, with his intentionally lop-sided haircut that probably cost more than everything I am wearing. Permanently chipper Liam, with his studied non-regional accent and constant spring in his step. Liam, who actually calls himself ‘Liam’ when you just know his family call him ‘William’. Liam and his soft leather man-bag. Liam and his abysmal daytime-television gameshow-host patter.
Me: [Louder than intended] I fucking hate that cunt.
Liam’s stride falters a little, but he recovers and makes it to his desk.
Blonde Colleague: You know he’s got a girlfriend?
Me: What? Fuck off. She must have a pretty high boredom threshold. And be happy to put-up with loads of abysmal indie CDs, shit craic, tender-stroking and ‘respectfulness’ when all she fancies is an inconsiderate bending-over the kitchen table. Poor cow.
BC: [Becoming quite animated herself] Doubt it. She’ll be one of those waif-types who never touch their face with their hands and buy their fucking floaty dresses from Ghost. She’ll be so fucking pale you wonder if she’s ever gone outside, probably never had a KFC bucket to herself ever and couldn’t put together an IKEA wardrobe to save her fucking life. She’s probably called Hermione or fucking Natasha or something. Fuck.
Me: “Godfafer Free”, “Not considered the best one”.
BC: Eh?
Me: That fucking match.com advert.
BC: YES! Brilliant! That’s those two cunts right there.
Me: They probably go to charity shops together, not because they’re skint but because they think it makes them ‘charming’…
BC: YES. And voluntarily watch subtitled films with a ‘nice glass of rose’ sitting on a pile of fucking scatter cushions…
Me: What a couple of knackers.
BC: They probably read books.
Me: Yeah, alright. People read books. You need to get over that one.
We gather ourselves. I’m panting slightly. Blonde Colleague wipes a faint glow of perspiration from above her top lip.
BC: Any good?
Me: That wasn’t bad, actually.
I feel much better.
Liam The Tosser walks into the office and a glorious surge of pure hatred courses through me.
Liam, in his skinny-lapelled date-rapist suit, with his intentionally lop-sided haircut that probably cost more than everything I am wearing. Permanently chipper Liam, with his studied non-regional accent and constant spring in his step. Liam, who actually calls himself ‘Liam’ when you just know his family call him ‘William’. Liam and his soft leather man-bag. Liam and his abysmal daytime-television gameshow-host patter.
Me: [Louder than intended] I fucking hate that cunt.
Liam’s stride falters a little, but he recovers and makes it to his desk.
Blonde Colleague: You know he’s got a girlfriend?
Me: What? Fuck off. She must have a pretty high boredom threshold. And be happy to put-up with loads of abysmal indie CDs, shit craic, tender-stroking and ‘respectfulness’ when all she fancies is an inconsiderate bending-over the kitchen table. Poor cow.
BC: [Becoming quite animated herself] Doubt it. She’ll be one of those waif-types who never touch their face with their hands and buy their fucking floaty dresses from Ghost. She’ll be so fucking pale you wonder if she’s ever gone outside, probably never had a KFC bucket to herself ever and couldn’t put together an IKEA wardrobe to save her fucking life. She’s probably called Hermione or fucking Natasha or something. Fuck.
Me: “Godfafer Free”, “Not considered the best one”.
BC: Eh?
Me: That fucking match.com advert.
BC: YES! Brilliant! That’s those two cunts right there.
Me: They probably go to charity shops together, not because they’re skint but because they think it makes them ‘charming’…
BC: YES. And voluntarily watch subtitled films with a ‘nice glass of rose’ sitting on a pile of fucking scatter cushions…
Me: What a couple of knackers.
BC: They probably read books.
Me: Yeah, alright. People read books. You need to get over that one.
We gather ourselves. I’m panting slightly. Blonde Colleague wipes a faint glow of perspiration from above her top lip.
BC: Any good?
Me: That wasn’t bad, actually.
I feel much better.
posted by Tired Dad at
8:22 pm
18 Comments:
I think you should ask to see a picture of his actual girlfriend.
Got to get the bile pumping - it's probably practically medicinal...
That was awesome.
Your bile explosion was exemplary. I'll use it as an example, if I may, when I next meet my nemesis, Ringo.
It's him or me.
Keep going Tired, you're an example to us all.
It was good for me too. In case you were wondering.
I LOVE the #mooodswing posts - cheered me up no fucking end!
Thank you. I needed that.
You are my hero du jour.
That was really quite wonderful *wipes coffee off keyboard* and has made me feel wonderfully malicious. But before I set off to wreak havoc on the intertubes,....
Hope you, the blonde and the rest (yes, even Liam) have a lovely Christmas and New Year!
Ali x
Debs: Oh no, I'm sure she exists. And is also thoroughly dreadful.
J: It's always better than feeling nothing, I find.
PB: Ok. Thanks.
TWB: See above.
Em: You may have been the only person to get the joke.
FP: I thought you'd sworn to stop commenting? Glad it's been cheering though.
Sew: My thanks to you also.
Ali: God. Is it nearly Christmas? Fuck, I've got things to do.
Bah sodding bothered yawnworthy Humbug.
Ann Anon
Ann: Whevs. Back atcha.
It's very reassuring that this goodwill to all bollocks hasn't rubbed off on you.
Happy Christmas anyway, miserable bugger!
Loob: It's nearly Christmas? God. Nobody tells me ANYTHING.
So you weren't invited to the company Xmas party?
Love this
Probably my favourite post of yours (or anyone's) ever.
Thank you.
Ellie: As it happens we don't even have those anymore. Austerity and that. Although if we did I'm sure I would not be on the invite list.
Gibbon: Ah. Many thanks. Although it wasn't all that.
Nah I don't believe he has a girlfriend.
Northern Snippet: Oh apparently so. He's living with her mother until the mortgage comes through. Let's hope she' a fan of Big Bang Theory or whatever shit he likes to watch on the telly...
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