G- strings and jazz hands.

There are days when getting into work can seem like a jog through a a scene from Inception, folding cities included. Public transport, children so mesmerised by whatever is in the bathroom they freeze, toothbrush in hand, making you late. Lost books and keys..... always the keys. Four trips back to pick up things somebody forgot off the sofa. Life is not easy for the working parent.
Yet, when it goes well and you sweep into work on time, perky, full of jolly banter , there is always something to trip one up. Apart from decree's sent from above that is. I have to say, the little thunder bolts sent down from Mount Olympus have been so sporadic and irrelevant recently, we are mostly immune to them now.

 I 'm rambling aren't I ?
 Sorry.

And so today's offender of the faith? A woman who inserted the spray button of a fragrance bottle up her nostril, TWICE.
 Anyone who reads this blog more than once will know about our mass hatred of bottle snorters. Why? Because it is dirty. Yes, dirty, nasty, ignorant people. 
Oh, swine flu ! I'm so scared!
Not bloody scared enough on approaching a counter, full of lovely bottles of beautifully blended  fragrance,  to stop shoving them up your nose.  When you leave a little bit of moisture and a  blobby grey sticky bit, do you know what we do? 
We chuck the whole thing in the bin. 
Ahhwww, could you have taken that? That lovely half full tester that is now wasted in a skip somewhere? Could you? It is a waste isn't it? Somebody should just clean it down shouldn't they? 

No, actually. My colleagues and I are not in the business of cleaning up human waste. So keep your secretions to yourselves and stop sticking bottles up your MRSA shaft. God, it is bad enough when women try lipstick on their fingers after they have dragged a bit of sweaty G- string from up their cracks.
Oh yes they do!
They don't notice themselves, but quite a lot of legging wearers give their minge attire a quick subconscious adjustment on a Saturday. Down go the bags, up comes the top, out of the butt-crack it comes and then,

'Oooh I love that colour'.
Jazz hands straight on the eye-shadows!

Nice thought eh?