Look at the woman in the corner - a perfectly normal, non psychotic section manager, with a pleasant and easy demeanour towards everyone she works with. As far as anyone is aware, she doesn’t really fancy anyone in the office. She appears to be writing a long, important email. But do you know what she’s really doing? She’s thinking about that bloke five desks away that shes only spoken to about ten times.
“If we went away for a mini-break together, we couldn’t go to Paris - he went there with his ex-girlfirend” she’s thinking. “I know. He mentioned it once. I remember. I’m not going to go tromping around the Louvre if he’s comparing me, in my spring mac, to her, in her spring mac. Not that we’d be going in spring anyway - given where we are in our relationship now, if he made the first move TODAY, the earliest we’d be going on mini-breaks would be-” counts on fingers “- November, and it would be really rainy, and my hair would go all flat, I’d need an Umbrella. But” she continues typing angrily, “if I had an umbrella, then we wouldnt be able to hold hands because I’d have the brolly in one hand and my handbag in the other. So that would be shit. UNLESS! UNLESS I could fit everything I needed in my pockets! Then I wouldn’t have to take a handbag to the Louvre. But I’d be without spare tights if I got splashed, and I’d have to go bare legged , and it would be so cold that my legs would look purple, and I’d be tense when we went back to the hotel to fuck, and I’d be trying to hide them with a towel, and he’d think I was prick-teasing him, and go off me. OH FOR FUCKS SAKE. WHY IS HE TAKING US TO PARIS IN NOVEMBER? I HATE HIM