I realise that at nearly 30, I should be able to refrain from bumping into the office stud and then running back to tell my gal pals about it. But in this case, an up-close-and-personal encounter with the 40-something Asian Aussie with the ridiculously thick, hand-run-through-able hair is cause for celebration.
It’s not often you find a guy – especially in our office – who quite so perfectly fits his suit jacket, yet manages to be totally unaware of just how good he looks (or are we biased?).
He must know something’s up – the number of times Dolly has messaged “HELLOOOO” and I’ve SNAPPED my head up is getting a little embarrassing. We’ve managed, on a number of occasions, to be looking at something really fascinating on someone else’s desk so that we can stare longingly towards his desk... It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that we’re not freshly hormonal tweens. Or pregnant.
The other day I went into the pantry to wash my mug. Hottie McAussie was in there, heating up his homecooked lunch (hate his wife). I needed paper towels, but there were none left in the dispenser, so, hero that he is, he grabbed the spare roll from on top of the microwave. And pulled off a sheet for me. SWOON.
Granted, I read this back and realise quite how pathetic I sound. But then I play back the memory and I really don’t care.
Right, I’m off to see if he has the charcoal grey suit pinstripes on today...
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