I peered over my shoulder at the strange, dry rustling noise coming from the Good Lady. I wondered if her nethers had crusted over. Perhaps I should see if I could find that toffee hammer we had. Help her out a bit?
Before I could muse further, she turned and plonked down a bowl of something that looked like dry, half-burnt woodchips in front of me.
She chirped pleasantly.
Any thoughts of a crust-breaking, sexy breakfast party went out the window as I looked into the bowl of desiccated sharp-edged detritus.
Mybrown clown twitched involuntarily.
Will milk help this stuff on its way out?
I replied as my cholesterol sounded a code-red deep within my body.
The Good Lady looked offended as if I had given her a Giraffe tail to swat flies with.
It's Chickpea granola?! I thought you would like it? It's full of fibre.
So are my fucking shoes but you don't see me eating them, I managed not to say out loud.
Chickpeas? For breakfast? Chickpeas are for lunches or dinners. Nobody eats chickpeas for breakfast, that's obscene?!
At least bloody try it. Be adventurous for once in your life!
The Good Lady made a muffled haroomphing noise to emphasise her point.
Be adventurous!? Didn't she know about the time I had made it up the back of Ben Nevis with hardly any protective gear?
note to the non Scottish: Ben is Scottish for mountain. I am referring to a Scottish mountain and not to hauling my way up a man called Ben's arse without a condom.
I shook my head. It was no use trying to escape. I slopped some almond milk into the bone dry stuffs in the bowl.
I gave it as long as I could to soak under the withering gaze of the Good Lady then raised a spoonful of it to my lips.
Manfully my teeth tried not to break on the nail-hard, cinnamon'y brittle that was her Chickpea granola.
The Good Lady nodded keenly
What do you think? You like?
I grunted as the shrapnel scraped its way into my gut.
Erm, it's scratchy?
I offered apologetically as if it were actually my fault that she had decided to bake various pulses and nuts in the oven and serve them to me
She glared at me.
She accused, her voice ramping up an octave.
I stood and grabbed my jacket.
Sorry, not scratchy... Scrapey??
Her voice boomed out like a fart in a Parisian cafe.
I dodged as if avoiding a punch and grabbed my coat and hat.
Anyway, sorry love. Must dash, I've got a case!
I ran for the door before the feeding tube came out.
Mikey wasn't at his desk when I got in. I sipped at my coffee whilst waiting for him to arrive so we could chew the fat on the events of yesterday.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a girl nearby, Harthur curse out loud as she wrestled with the back of her PC.
You ok, Harthur?
I asked politely.
Harthur peeped up from her cursing, she was a slender woman with monstrously muscular thighs. It was alleged she had ruined a man with them once.
Oh yeah, sorry. Was I swearing out loud?
She said, her cheeks reddening slightly.
Fuck no, I was probably imagining it.
I said with a debonair swish of my lustrous hair.
She laughed and for a moment I dreamed of ruin.
It's this bloody monitor cable, I don't think it works. I am going to have to contact Facilities.
My heart skipped a beat entirely unrelated to a potential Harthur thigh-ruining.
Facilities? What's that?
I tried to sound casual as if a bee had flown in and I was trying not to scream.
You know... Facilities? The ones that really call the shots in here?
A wry smile tugged at the corners of Harthur's mouth at if she was joking and hadn't actually let the Illuminati cat out of the bag.
Call the shots you say?
Harthur begin to look a little uncomfortable.
Yeah I'm just kidding, you know. Like, the ones with all the power, lol.
I didn't lol.
I stepped forward till I was close enough to smell the glorious musk of her overdeveloped thighs.
And where, pray tell, might I find... Facilities?
She backed up a step looking around her as if for reinforcements.
They are in the basement. Everyone knows that. Don't they?
She didn't sound so positive.
I whispered my eyes narrow and slightly squinty.
I crashed my now empty coffee cup into a nearby bin with a single flick of one of my many handsome wrists.
Looks like I was basement bound...