For those asking me to stop ‘lazing’ around and look for a job
For those asking me to take a full time job
Its time you knew that I am too big a prisoner of myself
To fit in paycheck cells
For those asking me to join the rat race
Its time you knew my strides are too long for rats
The secretary was summoned. She entered as I exited the boss’ office. She had a mini on and her juicy thighs were exposed to the ravaging eyes of the boss. Her lips moist with allure and her presence annotated with sweet scent of cologne. She swayed her hips in a manner that sent single men of my variety to a nostalgic frenzy tour of our past encounters with women half her charm. Her booty etched on her tight skirt, finer details of her underpants impeccably illustrated in tempting diagram. Every edge and strip sending wake-up call to morbid testosterone in sexually starved. The door closed!
I left. At exactly 8: 15 Pm I got a text. “May you please bring the key to your office, am changing locks”. And that job was gone. I knew she told him. It’s now five years since this happened. I am set to read this eulogy on Wednesday the 16th. Dear Boss we loved you but lust loved you more. RIP.