by Tania Cooper
We get home safely and get straight to work while last night’s stir-fry heats in the microwave. Yes, she wants to make a large head start on Mr. Uptight, but my girl is also excited about such a large and challenging project. She gets amazing feelings flowing through our body when ideas form that just won’t let up until she sits still and draws or writes them all down. I may get ignored quite a bit when her creative juices are on fire, but the feelings of accomplishment when a simple idea grows like rapid fire is freaking amazing. It feels as if all our nerve endings have come alive at once. Actually, it’s very similar to how an orgasm slowly smoulders at first and then explodes at climax, causing fireworks in your vision. Even though it has been forever since we had one of those ones. I wonder if it will ever happen again.
After working through dinner she decides it’s time to get comfy and slips into her PJs, the best working clothes ever. Seriously, if we could design a pair of work PJs, vaginas all over the world would cry with happiness. No more tight pants in unbreathable fabrics, no more stockings that just about cut off our circulation. We and our owners would be a much happier race.
Just as we sit down in a more comfortable state, she gets an idea. Ahh, I knew this was coming, I knew she would use this as a weapon against Mr. Uptight, I just didn’t know she would bring out the big guns so soon. She jumps up and moves quickly to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients from cupboards and the fridge. Deciding she needs to double her efforts, she rushes back to her room and throws on a hoodie over her PJs, slips on her runners, grabs her keys and purse and heads for the door.
No girlfriend, you’re not! We’re not jogging down to the corner store in our goddamn PJs! Oh damn, yes we are. And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. What has gotten into you? I have no choice but to go with the flow and just pretend that I’m not embarrassed to be connected to this woman sometimes.
As we enter the grocery store that’s two blocks from our apartment, I feel at least four sets of eyes turn our way and then the snickers start.
“Looking for a roof over your head, sweetheart? My guy’s got plenty of room to accommodate your sweet sugar.”
“Great line, dickhead.”
“Hey there my little pussy cat, did someone forget your milk?”
Seriously? Why does my milkshake bring all the boys to the yard?
“Really? I’ve never heard that one before. Move along gentleman, ladies on a mission.”
Seriously, some dicks are more dicks than others. I’m still trying to figure out what head on a man holds the most brain cells. Jury is still out on that one. My girl grabs all the extra ingredients she needs to make her famous, mouth-watering and super healthy blueberry muffins. She makes them all the time for her little office, often by request, but Mr. Uptight’s office has a lot more staff, so even doubling her recipe won’t cover it. Maybe she is planning on leaving them all on Mr. Uptight’s desk, hoping he won’t be able to help himself and he will get fat and unattractive after eating the whole two batches. Yep, that’s probably it.
Once we’re home and the second batch of muffins is in the oven, we get back to some solid work. With Adele crooning in the background, our creative juices are overflowing. After the buzzer chimes to take the last batch of muffins out, we return to work, coming up with some exciting concepts we can’t wait to show off to Mr. Uptight. Oh and of course the clients too.
It’s almost midnight before my girly starts to finally wind down. This is a late night for us, we normally get more beauty sleep than this, and I need all I can get while I’m still recovering from my tragic injury. I hate to think of what I may look like in the morning. Thank God I won’t be parading myself around to anyone, but if I’m all healed by Friday night, I will be more than happy to parade around in front of the right piece of meat. I just pray we get one that knows what he’s doing and has zero facial hair.
Hey, I would even go for one of those athletic types, maybe even a cyclist for once, just to experience nice, gentle, hair free … well … everything.
You’re watching her leave, aren’t you; you’re watching that tram pull off. You really do have feelings for her, not that I think you realise it, but you do. Hold up. Who the fuck is that? No, not the bloke next to her on the tram, that pogo crossing the road towards us. He’s been around here a lot lately, although I doubt you really noticed, but you have now though. That’s right, keep an eye on him, remember that face, Lane. Now let’s head home.
“See you in the morning, Lex, sorry about today.”
You really are soft as shit sometimes, Lane, you really are. But why not say it to her face?
Right, don’t forget to shut the door this time, dipstick, I forget the number of times we’ve woke up to find that bloody door ajar.
“Shit, I need a drink. Today has not been a good day.”
I swear mate, booze is your go to response for every tense situation. You stood there and peacocked, flaunting yourself, I mean seriously, who calls themselves a freaking tiger? I totally get Andre calling Alexis a tiger, you know, give her a boost and all that, especially after you fucked around with her head all day. But you, calling yourself a tiger, who does that, dickhead? Now because of you and your poxy name, I now have a new nickname. Mr. Eight Seconds, thanks for that.
“Where’s my tequila. Come on you bastard, where are you?”
It’s not in that cupboard; it’s in the one by the freezer. It’s always in the one by the freezer, why do you forget that? Hang on, yeah, stupid question. You’re always too pissed to remember the day after. Seriously though, you shouldn’t jump into that bottle yet, Miss Warm Sunshine and Hot Lips are diving into the work and ploughing ahead, so why don’t we? Come on, seriously, folders open on the table, we’ve got some old shows on the boob tube to create some background noise, so dive on in. Water’s lovely as they say, or we could always go through and ditch that bitch once and for all, you know, toss out all her bullshit belongings that still clutter up drawers and other places, especially that bloody bear. Do you know how much of a rod killer that thing is? It just sits there, staring. It creeps me out and I forget the amount of booty that has gotten pissed off at us because that poxy bear has pushed the mood right out of me.
“Ha, found you, ya bastard, time to get drunk.”
Oh great, another night spent with your hand stuck on me as you attempt to tug the whisky dick out of me rather than getting work done. There are times when I really do wonder if I was only grafted onto you at the last minute rather than us being attached from your birth. I really do think we are two very different people. Well, I’m a penis, you’re a person, but still, we are far too separate to have ever truly belonged together to begin with.
Oh God no, the salt shaker and a bunch of lime wedges, did you plan all this in advance or something? I’m so going to make you puke, in fact, I’m going to give your gut a heads up now and make sure you redecorate your toilet seven shades of puke before bed time.
“Oh shit, my head.”
That’s right, dipshit; it’s that bad this time. You necked that bottle within an hour, then went down to the corner store and bought yourself another three bottles and necked another one when you got back. Take a look at the kitchen bin, more lime in there than a Cornish quarry, not to mention I literally taste tequila every time you take a leak. Do you even realise how much it stings when you drop a load in the bowl? This is getting ridiculous, something has got to give. At the rate you’re snorting down the liquor it’s going to be you long before me.
“Damn it, this has to change, I can’t keep doing this. I’m going to end up drinking myself to death.”
No shit, Sherlock! I’ve been telling you this ever since you hit the sauce after Miss Queen Bitch up and tore you a new one. So are we going to work today, or are you going to be a complete pansy and sit in a dark room all day and fawn over the all-consuming sack of shit that walked out on both of us, with your former best friend no less
? Yeah that’s right; I actually pay attention to the stuff that happens, to what goes on around us as you walk through the pointless excuse of a life you seem content to live at the moment.
“Shit, I need something to put my head into at least some sort of normal state, otherwise I’m going to puke, or at the very least, end up with a migraine by the time I get home.”
Good, we can finally get some bloody work done for once, rather than you fucking around making Alexis’s life a living nightmare and ruining my chance with Hot Lips, if something ends up happening. Which in all likelihood, it won’t, because you’re playing the part of Captain Douche Bag in the two month production of the Beauty and the Arsehole.
“Come on, come on, where the fuck did I leave them? They’re here somewhere.”
Ha, you’re looking for the Alka Seltzer ain’t you? Well guess what, you used it all, props for not shopping properly, mate. This’ll teach you to prepare better, won’t it. I swear, this is getting to be a bloody running joke with you. That last box you bought was supposed to last a month, and you blew through it in two weeks. But like every other damned time we go through this, you’ll head to work, plough through the job, be a complete arsehole to Alexis, and then drink yourself into a stupor again tonight.
I honestly can’t get my head round the way you treat her, but hey, like I have said to you before, not my problem, douche bag, you are going to get stuck with whiskey dick for life until you buck your ideas up and treat that woman with at least some respect.
“Ah, shit, okay, what was it Benji said always perked him up? Right, where’s the eggs and tabasco sauce?”
Oh lovely, I’m going to be sieving through that crap again. Why don’t you just throw some cold Chinese food into the blender as well? No, oh shit, I was bloody joking, don’t actually, ah fuck. This is going to taste bloody awful on the way out. I’m so glad I can’t really get the full flavour of anything that I’m pumping out. Damn, can you imagine what it would be like to live with the taste of jizz and piss constantly in your mouth?
“God, why is the world so damned noisy today? It feels like I’ve got a freaking cement mixer full of marbles in the back of my head.”
That’s what you get for being a closet alcoholic, mate; you may as well wear a sign around your neck that says “I want to be a brewery,” because if it wasn’t for your anal retentive cleanliness ritual each and every damned morning, then you would certainly smell like one. Speaking of douche bag things to do in the bathroom, did you bleach your teeth again this morning? I mean, seriously, who does that apart from dumbass American actors or anyone on Jersey Shore?
Hey, ain’t that the prick you saw making crazy eyes at Alexis? You know the one who went all Michael Myers crazy stare when he watched you and her talking last night after work. That’s gotta be him, he has that same Sheldon Cooper haircut and cheap jacket. Mate, are you blind or what? You’ve got to be able to see this tosser, come on, take a freaking look for fuck sakes. Seriously Lane, open your eyes and take a damned look at the guy! He’s right there glaring at you like he is trying to make your head explode.
For crying out loud, you’re more clueless than a blind gay guy in a freaking all female nude review for Blowjob Quarterly.
Okay I’m so over this, you’re next to bloody useless. I’m going to give Hot Lips a heads up on this douche bag, maybe she can nudge Lex into paying attention when he’s around.
“Morning, Clive.”
“Morning Mr. Anderson, busy day ahead?”
“Count on it. I’ve got my boss chewing on my arse and my new work partner is a bit of a crowd pleaser, never can catch a break.”
Oh you arsehole, you know for a fact Lex is doing nothing more than what you used to do and by rights you should still should be doing, being a nice person. So stop spreading bullshit and get on with your job. Besides, you can see Clive doesn’t give two shits what you say; he just gets a better report from his shift boss when he clocks out. You don’t ever see that from Larry when he’s on shift. Oh who am I kidding, you never listen so I’m just going to stop talking and wait for Hot Lips and Lex to get in. At least then I get some intelligent conversation.
“Lex, can you pop up here please, need to chat about some things.”
And so it begins; the aimless, pointless, childish teasing of a mal-content. I’m still at a loss as to why you’re being like this. I cannot wait to find out what Hot Lips makes of it all. Oh I hear panting, and rushed footsteps. Yup, she ran up here again. You owe that woman some serious compensation. Especially after the container of muffins she left on your desk this morning. You may be trying to show some will power, but we both know by the end of the day you will have eaten at least two. And how sweet was that of her to leave a large basket of them on our front reception desk. Not that you would have noticed.
“Why do I suddenly feel like that public speaker from the Hunger Games?”
“Oh, what, do you mean? ‘May the odds forever be in your favour.’ Hey, Mr. Eight Seconds.”
“Pretty much. I swear, every time these two are in the same room, there is more tension than an Alcoholics Anonymous convention where the coffee just ran out; there is no give or take between them, she’s as stubborn as he is and he’s just being a right arse of late. I mean hell, you saw that yesterday. How’s the pash rash by the way, Hot Lips?”
“It’s healing, thanks, and I know exactly what you mean; my girl was straight into her PJs and the funky leftovers as soon as we got home. And then in the middle of it all, decides to make blueberry muffins. Like we don’t have more important things to concentrate on. By the way, did you see anything odd on the way home last night?”
“Oh, you mean the Michael Myers wannabe with the Sheldon Cooper hair cut? Yeah, I saw him. The blind Adonis I’m stuck with didn’t, but I did. It’s astounding the shit he misses that I catch. I mean hell, it was me that first put him in Alexis’s direction. This dull git was too wrapped up in his own misery to even see her at first.”
“Don’t you mean blonde Adonis?”
“I know what I said, but seriously, you need to keep a watch on that guy. I do not like the way he is staring at our girl.”
“Our girl?”
“Well, I, uhh, oh fuck, I meant that, well, I uh ...”
Shit, shit, shit and double shit. I cannot believe I let that slip. I swear if I could blush I would be the same colour as Heinz ketchup right now. I’m just going to be quiet for a while I think.
“What is it, Lane?”
“Look, I know you love your desk, I know you love your office. But this whole running yourself ragged thing, it just isn’t going to work in the long run, and I don’t want you falling ill or hurting yourself for the sake of this campaign. So; I have an office big enough for multiple desks; I know for a fact we have some of the new pattern ergonomic ones in storage, so I’m going to get one set up in here for you to use.”
“Mate, you really need to check that tone. Do you even hear how condescending you sound? Hell, even I know that is the wrong way to phrase things and I’m supposed to be the bad influence, well, that’s if you follow the Freudian school of thinking.”
“Do I get a say in this?”
Lane, seriously, abort the mission, abort the mission, man. You are setting yourself up for failure here.
“Of course you do.”
Oh, so now you’re being a gentleman and letting the lady have a say in things. You’re such a tool and I swear if I had hands, I would be giving myself the biggest face palm right now. How can I be attached to someone this dense?
“Thank you, but no thank you. I’m comfortable as I am.”
“Ha, serves you right, douche nozzle. Did you think my girl was going to go all puppy and roll over for you to tickle her belly? Get real.”
“Hot Lips, did you seriously just compare your girl to a dog?”
“No I didn’t, I used it as an analogy. I realise you only have a small brain in
that head of yours but seriously, wise up Mr. Eight Seconds.”
“That’s rich coming from a talking pin cushion. You know, I’m thinking of changing your nickname. What do you think of Pash Lips?”
“Oh you son of a …”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, Pash Lips, you’re a bit muffled and it’s kind of rude of you to leave in the middle of our conversation.”
“Fuck you, you limp noodle.”
“You wish, Pashy.”
Okay, you just called her up and chased her off in one conversation, which has to be the world record of fuck ups, or at least your personal best, bro. I’m really at a loss as to what to do with you anymore; you’re really getting to the point of no return. I would say beyond redemption, but I’m an atheist so, redemption is what you make it.
Hang on, you’re picking up your phone, who are you calling?
“Viv, can you patch me through to Maintenance please?”
Whoa, hang on, what the hell are you doing, why are you calling Maintenance. Lane, stop and think over what you’re doing.
“Yes Mr. Anderson.”
Oh no.
“Maintenance.”
Lane seriously, what are you doing? If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, then she is going to be pissed.
“Hi, this is Lane Anderson, I’m in office 320 in the south corner. Do you have any of the new ergonomic desks available? You do? Excellent. What is the earliest you can get one up to my office and set up?”
“Well, we have a new cubicle sector going up in the renovated conference area, so probably Wednesday at the earliest, Friday at the latest.”
Okay seriously, Lane, you are digging a hole so deep we’ll be eating tea in China. Back off now, mate.
“I need it done before Friday, so Thursday is the latest it can go in. Can you also add to it a new posture corrective chair as well and a foot brace?”