The PonyTail

Oh groan. What is the first thing I see when I sign intros morning? A missive from The Ponytail in HR.

It has come to my attention, blah, blah, blah, blah…

Oh, ah! If there is a problem, just refer the people involved to the people who can fix it, and stop making a huge drama out of nothing. 

Justifying my job. Justifying my job. Justifying my job.

I wrote four shorts stories, and rewrote just as many while I was on holidays, how gorgeous that was. How lovely, and real.

Oh, perhaps I could resign and get a job as a barman to earn pocket money and I could return to the story writing world permanently? Perhaps.

But, you know, who's going to employe an old barman? It was different when I was a barman in my uni days. It was exciting. Max and I were your gorgeous barmen types who the chicks used to hit on. 

"We come in here because you two are so good looking," they used to say. [even if I say that myself now] 

Pity the ladies didn't know that Max and I were too busy hitting on each other. We never really did get down to screwing each other, we were too, oh, I don't know what you'd call it? Too young and naive.

It is such a nicer world, home writing stories, than the concocted drama that is the fuel for HR to run on.

Ah, Ponytail, how I have not missed you, not for a millisecond. What was I expecting? Nothing, I wasn't expecting anything, but on the second day, first thing. Big exhale.