Like A Beacon

My Dear Princess and Dear Fellows,

Today was another day on the road. This time to two local offices in Wellington suburbs, so no need for an early morning start at the airport. 

We decided to meet at Ellie's desk, but as we hot-desk this was not easy. "Just look for all my stuff," she said. "Look for the pink scarf."

That was a good call. We found her desk fairly easily. "My crack acts like a beacon," she said. 

We all stopped. There was a definite pregnant pause.

"What?" said Ellie.

I was going to let it slide. 

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY???" asked Fazzi. 

Ever the diplomat, that one.

"I said my CRAP is like a beacon," replied Ellie. 

"Oh!" replied Fazzi.

"What do you THINK I said, Fazlyn?" asked Ellie.

"We all heard 'crack'," replied Ollie.

"I definitely heard 'crack'," said Corrie. 

"I'll have you know I am wearing my MUM JEANS," said Ellie. "There is no TRACE of my crack. These things are pulled up to my BOOBS. Or at least my bellybutton. Although that is pretty much the same thing these days."

Her words. Not mine.

"And now, I am going to tidy up my CRA-PUH and head out," she said with a flourish. And then she turned into BossyMum. "Have you got your jacket, Ollie? HAVE YOU GOT YOUR JACKET? GO AND GET YOUR JACKET. IT'S COLD OUTSIDE."

Nevertheless, her new authority did not last long. And basically her crack kept coming up all day. 

I blame Fazzi. She is such a bad influence.

S.