Kids, my inner Bridget Jones has the uncanny knack of emerging at the most inappropriate moments like…
I was in the middle of explaining to my colleagues how I was sometimes tempted to reply to the infernal “what is the temperature like at the top of the mountain?” question that I needed to check my boobs.
As I ended this punchline with a demonstration of fondling my right breast. in walks the hired catering hottie. Silence reigned as my fellow ladies and I waited for his response.
With a bemused grin, Hottie McFly says:
“Oh, don’t stop on my account! How do you check the temperature on top?”
I blushed fifty shades of red and walking away giggling shyly.
Why, Gods, WHY?!!!