Overheard in (my) Office...

So anyway, we were talking (well, I was) about the cows and how at some point they’ll evolve big wide flat feet so they can breach the cattle grids and what will we all do then, and everyone said I was mental and I said well, when you’re connected to a milking machine at five in the morning and there’s a Friesian with its hoof on the switch, don’t come crying to me.

Nobody believes me about the cows but I know they are evil and are plotting to take over the world. They don’t fool me with the whole standing-around-in-fields-looking-a-bit-dim routine. Oh no. I’m smarter than that. You won’t catch me wandering through a field in a brightly coloured cagoule, blithely unaware of the cows at the end of the field all plotting and planning and waiting for the moment when, as one, they will stampede down the field and kill me with their tightly-executed kick/trample manoeuvre.

Um. Anyway. That’s not what I wanted to tell you.

What I wanted to tell you was about the extremely Dante/Randall-esque exchange that took place between my (pregnant) colleague and I, shortly after the above conversation.

Her: I don’t trust horses. I don’t trust their mouths.

Me: You don’t trust their mouths? What’s wrong with their mouths?

Her: I don’t like the teeth. Or the gums. And I don’t like the erratic lip thing.

Me: You find horses’ lips erotic? That’s wrong. Pervert.

Her: No. I said erratic. I Don’t find horses sexy. Not like you, you horsefucker.

Me: Seriously? I’m a girl. How am I going to fuck a horse?



I’m going to miss that girl when she goes on maternity leave. Even if she does find horses attractive.

The pervert.