Monday, May 15, 2006

Making a boob of myself

So today, I found myself in a bit of a role reversal situation.

Y'know, the sort of thing where ... well, basically, some girl was checking out my man-rack. My pecs. my man-boobs. My chesticles. Anyone know any others? (I won't except 'bitch tits'; I am not, nor do I bear any resemblance to, Meatloaf's character from Fight Club)

I had to make a brief stop-off at another company for something to do with work, and while there I had a short conversation with this very sweet lady. So we're chatting away, and I notice her eyes keep flashing down to my, erm, chest area.

Now, the t-shirt I was wearing does have some rather non-sensical text on it, so it's quite possible that she was just trying to read that; but she would've figured out that it was non-sensical and stopped pretty sharpish. Unless my conversation was incredibly dull...

Anyway, so she kept looking. And looking. And looking. (Thank God I wasn't wearing a smutty t-shirt)

It got to the point where I seriously thought I'd dropped something down myself, or dribbled, or something.

So what did I do?

I looked too.

So there we are. Two twentysomething adults. Starring intently at my chest in the lobby of a rather posh office building. For an uncomfortably unreasonable period of time.

I coughed to clear my throat, snapping us both out of our reverie. (It was either that or flex one of my pecs, which might've just looked like I was having some sort of weird spasm)

"Well, er, thanks, I best be getting back ... Nice to meet you!" And headed back to work.

It was all a bit disconcerting, to be honest. I felt a tad used.

It was quite lovely in hindsight.


M said...

I wanted to say something earlier to you at work, but David (works I.T. guy (for Malarky readers)) said it would be funnier if I didn't.

The bra you were wearing was clearly visible through you shirt...

Tim said...

Damn! Not again!