Damn, I've got a right watery eye today.
I dabbed at my eye which was scooshing out water like a drunk Irishman on his sixth pint of Guinness.
Naughty naughty, what have you been up to you?
My boss El-Jefe smirked on screen.
Eh, what do you think I have been up to? Taking my eyeball out and sticking it up dirty fannies?
I replied, scrunching my face up in disgust.
Fanny of course being a fine Scottish slang word for vagina. Not to be confused with the American fanny which means arse.
It's a complicated old world, isn't it?
Ugh, no. Of course, I didn't mean that? God, you always have to take it too far don't you?
El-Jefe grimaced at the very idea of vaginas romping free in the world.
Perhaps he worried that they would start smashing the place up and demanding free towels.
Take it too far? I thought I was being quite restrained. Taking it too far would have been to say, so you think I have been taking my eye out and letting men stick their greasy penises into the socket?
I sat back and grinned.
El-Jefe looked at me in horror.
That's... That's bloody disgusting!? See? See what I mean? You always take it too far!?
He licked his lips and dry swallowed shaking his head vigorously as if to force the very image out of there.
It seemed to work and he leaned in close to his laptop so that his bulbous face filled the screen.
Let's see it then?
He asked curiously.
See what?
I said suspiciously.
I was never a fan of video calls for exactly this reason. You never knew if the person on the other end was cracking one off by whilst peering at your glorious pixelated visage.
Which could either be quite horrifying or the greatest compliment ever.
Your eye, daftie. Put it up close.
El-Jefe was peering at me through lidded eyes as if he were Madame Zsa Zsa doing my tarot again.
And when I say doing my tarot I actually mean doing my tarot. Not polishing my celery.
Oh, alright then.
I stretched my eye open and stick it close to my web cam.
Can't see a thing. It goes all shadowy when you get too close.
El-Jefe sounded all disappointed as if he had picked a secret Santa name from a hat and got Wee Agnes, the office cleaner for the third year in a row.
It's bloody annoying. Itches like hell.
I grunted.
Go to the doctor's?
Suggested El-Jefe.
Can't. Don't want to be trapped in a room with a Doctor who has literally had his fingers inside Covid people for the last week.
What about the pharmacy then? They should be able to give you something?
El-Jefe smiled, all pleased with himself that for once in his life he had actually said something useful.
I nodded.
It was a good idea. But then a realisation hit me.
This was going to need a whole other post
