Out at work today and I ran into several other friends. Without exception, they all asked "How you doing?" and smirked.
Yesterday's story about misinterpretation of sarcasm and my filthy sex habits has apparently spread rapidly in the localized industry. Not that it has done me any harm via social ostracism; to the contrary, I am now seen as a person worth inviting to a greater number of the more …ahhh…good-to-go …social occasions in my particular milieu.
It is a fairly safe thing to say that an awful lot of people do not understand my particular brand of humour. After all, deranged is not everybody's cup of tea. I was surprised myself at what I said, even tongue in cheek, as I usually keep a very clear demarcation line between my professional and private selves.
It wasn't until today that I realised that my inappropriate speech was less about personal freedom, and relaxation of westernised imposed societal arbitrary standards, and more about huffing a can of oven cleaner.
I cleaned my oven yesterday, as part of my pre-moving routine. I do it regularly but it's always somewhat annoying to know that no matter what state I leave it in, it won't be good enough for the rental bond inspection. So I bought the most caustic brand of oven cleaner available and I sprayed and let sit and mopped and sprayed and let sit and mopped etc. Altogether, I immerse my hands in caustic chemicals for over 40 minutes before deeming it acceptable.
I didn't actually realise that the reason the can tells you to do it in a non-confined space (you know, like NOT a kitchen) is because the fumes build up. I was as high as a kite.
I don't know what's worse:
To apologise to the whole office for my inappropriate sexual domination remarks and, by extrapolation, thereby admit that I have somewhat kinky tastes, regardless of my actual desires,
or to claim,
That I was high on can fumes.
If I go for the latter I can behave really badly for at least another month, based on required cleaning of properties and the brain cell death high these products have in their chemical makeup.
Admitting non mainstream sexual techniques would only give me about 30.5 seconds in today's instant gratification facebook society. These things, be they big, small, painful, relaxing, or with an alpaca, are accepted within one month of a new internet porn genre being invented to glorify it. It becomes socially acceptable, even trendy, and not something condemned.
A month of free passes for being an can snuffer appeals a lot more vicscerally, though.
Except…have you ever truly felt an alpaca's wool?