Distracted

There are certain things that niggle at you all day; things that the etiquette of the workplace - or lack of opportunity - obstruct your dealing with them. Some folk won't poo at work, others won't fart (even in the privacy of the toilet cubicle, or in a quiet corner of the office when there's nobody around).

I don't suffer from such inhibitions - I've tried to hold back and it's too painful, I just end up making myself poorly.

I spent the day being very distracted by a couple of things, however, they were the type of things that you simply HAVE to save up till hometime:

1. Squeezing spots: Let's face it, you don't want to spend the whole day with massively disfigured face because you've been having a go at your beaners. It's a shame really, because the lighting and mirrors in the works' toilets are usually excellent for this task.

2. Plucking facial hairs: I'm not talking eyebrows here.

I'd spent the entire day conscious of an inflating spot on my face and a fusewire-like hair growing from my lovely mole.

Corker

Undiagnosed Siamese twin?

First task on returning home from work was therefore:

GOTCHA!

Eeewwwwww!! And look at how dry my fingers are.

Secondly, it didn't look much above the skin, but these bastards are like icebergs: just look at how long it was underneath!

(This was the tiny dark spec in the centre of the mole)

Getting those tasks out of the way mean you can start to relax for the evening. Aaahhhhhh....