When Stuart arrived at work today, I made a point of going to his office with the payout figure for Perry’s redundancy. I thought it couldn’t hurt to remind him that I work for him. I wore one of my more alluring dresses. Stuart does have a brain stem. Not too revealing, though. Didn’t want to look unprofessional. Actually, in addition to a brain stem, Stuart also has a face like a bowl of porridge, pig ugly really. He looked particularly florid and paunchy today. Grey hairs and white lard spilling out between buttons at waist height isn’t what I call erotic. I don’t know how old he is, but he reckons he can remember when the dollars turned over slower than the gallons. His wife, Patricia, looks like one of those people they regularly interview on the current affairs programs who claim they can no longer afford food, but who look like they weigh about 120 kilograms.
I thought Stuart would want to talk about the Perry situation, but no, he started going on about his underwater hockey. He’s obsessed by it. He gets Kylie to do all the admin work for the association while she’s supposed to be helping me, which is annoying. For the last six months I’ve been doing my own work plus half of hers plus half of Perry’s.
I have to say, though, Stuart is great at his job. He seems to have a knack for picking properties to buy and sell. He’s made himself and the sales team a fortune over the last ten years. Now that Periwinkle’s gone, I’m hoping to jump on that gravy train.