It was the day from hell.
At work I’d been given a load more responsibility with absolutely no more money for my hassles, and at home I’d come home to find my wife was leaving me for another man. Is it any wonder I lost my rag?! I know, I didn’t need to try and smash in the windscreen, but it helped work some of the stress of the situation out of my body. And there’s no doubting I felt a lot better afterwards, bruised and bloody knuckles apart.
I proceeded to get totally drunk that night, and was late for work the next morning; in fact I was still a little drunk. I sat at my desk, tapping away at the keyboard importantly. If anyone asked, I told them I was writing my report for the big meeting tomorrow – but if they’d bothered to look at the screen, all they would have seen was:
Fucking fucking bitch.
I’ll fucking kill her.
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And that’s the truth. Once I’d worked out my anger, I made a proper start on the report, only to be distracted by the new girl in the office. I couldn’t help it – she had a skirt up to her armpits, and a blouse open virtually to her belly button. I could see myself bending her over the desk and giving her one. It would be the perfect way to get over my bitch of a soon-to-be-ex-wife. There she would be with her ugly bastard new bloke, and me with a hot young woman. Then we’d see who was better off.
I did finally finish what I was supposed to be doing and plonked the ten page report on the boss’ desk well before 5 o’clock. Then I went over to the new girl and asked her out for a drink. She turned me down.
You can’t have everything though, can you?