Me: So Owen, have to be very careful when you're picking your belly button. If you dig around too hard you'll find the switch that everyone has in there. And if you accidentally turn that you're in big trouble, because then your bum falls off.
Son (eyes unbelievably wide and grasping both bum cheeks tightly): ............
So, after spending just shy of
three years in the comfort of my own home playing with small kids (Editors note -:
you might want to consider rewriting that bit - it's a bit Glitter-esque
to be honest) I've been back in work for a month and a half. Quite frankly being around adults is quite surreal. Not least because I can can suddenly see the innate child in everyone. I don't mean that in a critical way either. I just mean that everyone around me just seems so vulnerable and child-like. It's an odd thing. Their bodies have aged and their responsibilities in life have grown. But often all I see around me are what these people must have looked like as kids. It sort of makes office-life seem so unnatural when you walk past a group of office-cubes filled with adults from thirty to fifty-something but view them all as kids. Basically either I'd been at home for way too long and gone completely mental, or I've acquired a new perspective that I don't quite understand at the minute.
Nevertheless I made
the point early on to my line manager about how strange it is. Add that it was unlikely that
I'd be mopping up anyone's spilled urine on a daily basis or picking half-chewed
salami out of a trampoline spring. Although I did add that - being new - I was aware that if anyone
needed changing that my name was very much at the top of the list.
Truth be told I secretly hoped someone did shit themselves just so I
could wow my new coworkers with my incredible arse-cleaning abilities.
That didn't happen though. And after a month and a half it still hasn't. There's obviously still time though.
Had a chance to decorate my cube a bit too. Nothing overtly ridiculous. And certainly not like my cube-mate - who seems to have slaughtered the gayest bird of prey in history and mounted it amongst feather boas, cheesy animal prints and what appear to be pelts of every one of the My Little Pony universe. Not me though - just went for the basics. Firstly I pinned the now infamous The American Crayon box that I own (that has "Made In Mexico" written down the side) and this home-made inspirational poster.
It has also been a strange experience to deliberately not do things that I've
been completely comfortable doing for years. So I'm not to pick my
nose or chuff out any inner demons whenever the occasion seems to take
hold. Which disturbingly appears to be quite often. Judging by the frequency that
I had to remind myself not to plow my finger up my schnozz and dig
around it turns out that picking my nose has become one of my favorite
activities over the past three years. I have genuinely gone out to my car on break to give my nasal cavities a good, solid ten minute spelunking. I've also been aware that I cann't just type the name off an actress and the word "tits" into Google Image searches whenever
the thought comes to me. Apparently you can't do that at work.
And for anyone
wondering - of course I didn't poo at work. Have some decency - I'm not