Hope your fanny is ok…
Sitting in work yesterday afternoon, and for some reason most of the office is away.
There was me, who at the time was the only bloke in the room, MF, SB and Sue, the manager.
Sue takes a phone call which turns out to be from her gynaecologist, reminding her that she has an appointment that night. This led to an open-office conversation about women’s bits, what they have done, why they do it, how much it hurts and all other kinds of conversation that generally keeps us guys very quiet.
Top of the agenda for the across-office chat was Sue’s impending examination which she was having done that night, and Sue was going into great detail as to the reasons why she hates having it done, complete with actions to show the way she has to walk after. (Think John Wayne after he’d been kicked in the groin.)
I kept quiet during the conversation, not even commenting when the girls were talking about giving birth (My old favourite is to catch their attention mid- “giving birth” conversation, slowly ripping an A4 sheet in two and saying “That’ll be your fanny when you give birth”. Ok, I’m sick, but it’s said in good humour)
I couldn’t resist sending this text to Sue later that night, though:
“Hope your fanny is ok!”
It’s the first time in the 3 months I’ve been at Romford that I’ve sent a text like that to anyone. That’s the trouble with the written word, you never know how it will be taken.
Fortunately, I got the reply back a few minutes later:
“Just pissed my pants! Lol. Told my mum what you just text!”
Poor Sue’s mum, having to hear that! I didn’t have the heart to ask this morning if the gyne exam really DID cause a peeing of pants…