“I should of been sat down by the chester draws,” Laura text her fiend as she considered a slither of cake. She didn’t want to label the point, but finding that her boss had taken to even telling Laura where she could and could not stand or sit in the office was adding insult to industry. She was beginning to suspect that she was being turned into an escape goat, and if that woman put her ore in just one more time, Laura would refuse to tow the line any more.
She was not unhappy per say, but having put the idea of working for TalkTalk somewhat on a pedalstool, she was realising that the proof of it would be in the pudding. She had been promised so much; free reign over her department, personalised stationary, less hours than before, and a pay rise that would enable her to employ an au pear. That couldn’t come too soon- tomorrow was an insect day, and the DC’s would be at home, possibly with there new chums. Laura would try not to loose the plot.
Switching off the ovulating fan, she went out to the nearby café, the one the office went to before the game of bowels the previous week (and where to her delight her team won the others). As she sat down, she couldn’t help noticing that man- the one she saw over drinks and canopies at a book launch- and felt quietly glad that she didn’t have the DC’s in toe. Trying not to batter her eyelids, she hoped the new eau de colon would have the desired affect.
It did. It was a slightly heart-rendering moment as he moved towards her. “A damson in distress, perhaps?” he said. “Are you Laura? Laura Norder?”
“That would be myself,” replied Laura, feeling a sense of daring do.
“Tell me, Laura, what is upper most on your mind, right now?”
Slightly taken aback by that pacific question, Laura thought for a moment and replied, “Eating my children and my boss.”
“Me and you are the same, then, Laura,” said the man.
“You mean..?” she said, as she implied the answer he was about to give.
“Yes. We are both cannonballs.”