Today whilst washing my hands at work I noticed in the mirror there was a light grease stain on my shirt around the pec area. Annoyed, I rubbed at it ... with my soaking wet hand. This naturally soaked my shirt around the nipple area.
I then walked into the meeting. Without thinking I loudly apologised for lactating.
Then, when they said Boss++ was going to be away I suggested we have a Mexican theme in her absence.
'With ponchos and sombreros and nachos and ...'
At that point I trailed off since everyone was staring blankly at me.
Finally someone mentioned our Xmas in August celebration. Someone asked if there were going to be elves. I swear blind I heard Elvis.
'What, a Christmas Elvis? Here's a trainset - thank-yew-very-much uh-ha-ha, Elvis has left the Chimney.'
And so forth. I even did the Elvis power arm twirl in the corridor. Again, nothing.
The irony is of course that really the only difference between fat jumpsuit Elvis and Santa are are the colours of their outfits and facial hair.
I'd like to see Christmas Elvis as a tradition. I think this year I shall institute it for theBoy.