It is ten years today that I started at work, so Stuart organised a few drinks in the boardroom after work. He presented me with a bunch of flowers and some sort of plastic trophy thing he had had engraved. He then made an overly long speech about me, which somehow turned into what he’d achieved in the past ten years. OK, Stuart, it’s freedom of speech, not freedom of speeches. Give it a rest.
I was quite chuffed, nevertheless, although after the formalities were over Agnes got most of the attention, what with her new clothes, manicured nails, plucked eyebrows, styled and coloured hair, clean teeth and interesting conversation. I’ve noticed she has opinions about plenty of things and is happy to give them, but she isn’t at all concerned if others don’t agree with her. If anything, it quietly amuses her. Her lack of desperation to be liked seems to make her extremely likeable.
Anyway, Breadstick was there, as Stuart had invited the mob from upstairs to make up the numbers. Breadstick had brought a short, round, mate with him. He was also French. He seemed a bit mysterious, one could say a man of many layers. By the end of the evening, Agnes was having a cosy chat with him, glass of Chardonnay in hand, which Onions kept running to refill for her.
I don’t wish to be mean, and I’m happy for her of course, but I wish I’d taken a photo of her that night I brought her home. Isn’t it enough that her spreadsheets are already more sophisticated than mine? I know she’s not doing it on purpose, but she’s so damned attractive.