If phones were little phone-people

A story about a not-just-another-day in the office.

/

/

/

It was just one of those days. You know, the kind where you get up and are hit with the blind optimism that no, this time, the slides won’t stick on the screen. They’ll buy the deal after half an hour, I’ll actually take a proper walk at lunch. I might actually see the sun. After the last few months I’ve had, I probably have less Vitamin D in my veins than a bloody rock.

Predictably, I get to the office and it’s like the last days of Rome. Christine hasn’t turned up, the meeting’s been postponed. They’re kicking off about the price, why didn’t you tell me they haven’t paid our fees for a month, the contract’s fucked, the printer’s even more fucked, did you know about this? Did I balls. So I had two espressos and then it happened. I honestly think I was high. Or dying. Either way, it was a very long tunnel and I was in the middle of it all. I started laughing at how absurd it all looked. I never realised that David had such a shit tie. Or my chair was so low, maybe that’s why my necks been hurting.

And then the desk phones grew little legs and started running around. I saw Sarah frantically trying to dial one, and it was wriggling around. She couldn’t punch the numbers fast enough, it was a handset gremlin. David’s was laughing at his tie. Hugo’s had wrapped its cord around his wrists and was trying to drag him off the desk. Marcus had his purring in his lap, stroking the handset. I thought it was bloody brilliant. If I was a desk phone, I’d unplug myself and run my little legs out of there.

Find someone with lovely manicured hands to whisper into me softly, all day long.

If hearts were like iPhone batteries

Musings on romance.

/

/

/

A hopeless romantic, my mates would say. I’d probably call myself that too.  

I’ve always thought it sounds a bit funny though doesn’t it? Hopeless, hopelessly in love. Basically a lost cause, which I’d probably admit makes sense. Been caught out there a few times. It’s strange though, that to be so incredibly hopeless, you have to be quite so hopeful. Like, you have to have hope, but you’re supposed to have lost it, all at the same time. Confusing really.

And it’s confusing figuring out who’s going to be able to be so hopeless back. They kind of have to have enough to give, that they’re not left a complete empty shell at the end. A floppy shadow that’s too limp to hug you to sleep.

There should be a way to test how hopeless/hopeful they are. Like when you check your battery percentage on your phone. Are they on battery saver? How much have they got in them? Are they someone you’re going to have to try and charge?

‘Just scan your finger there for me please, I want to know your love percentage before we order starters.’

Maybe you could even donate some of your love battery to them, if it’s running low. I guess that’s what people do isn’t it, which is how you end up so drained.

You know what they say, never leave your phone charging overnight. It can’t take so much and it messes it up. 

Well, never love someone too much either. It’ll mess your love battery up too.

If hair grew way too fast

A story about fast-growing hair. Bet you haven’t thought about the ins and outs of that happening before? Well, it’s been thought for you. 

/

/

/

Ooo, I says to the girls, look at her lovely figure! We all said, yes, the Venus ad lady is such an angel. And then we says, Steph it should be you up there! Get up there girl, get your legs out and give us a show love.

She’s got lovely legs you know. Legs that could sell a razor to anyone, thinking about it.  But then we all agreed, yes, shaving is a right pain. Becks has to shave every day, god love her. That’s a lot of time in the shower if you’re not used to it. And a lot of bending down which people forget can really get on your nerves. Soap gets in your eyes and everywhere, and then you can barely see, let alone hold a sharp object and soap and shaving foam and everything else.

Thank god the hair on our heads don’t grow as fast! Think of that. Hair growing quicker than my John can finish his pint. You’d have to cut it every day before work. Maybe there’d be like special scissors invented for different hair. I’d probably have to start weaving all the extra hair or knitting it or something. An extra blanket for the dog. Or use it for cushions. Maybe they’d have hair recycling.

At least the wig makers would be happy, you’d never be short there would you! It wouldn’t be right if it was men too mind.

Long hair belongs on people like the Venus lady, not on my John.

What is this?

Sometimes, it can be much more interesting, to be interested in imaginary things. Real is hard and real is boring.

This is a collection of mini-stories, descriptions, ideas, (not quite sure how they can be categorised really) about things that clearly aren’t real.*

Because why not ask yourself, ‘what if?’ a little more often. It’s quite fun.

 

 

 

*the narrators of these words aren’t real either. They might sound like they are but really they are just me, writing behind a computer. Don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.