457. Wet hands

My posts so far haven't been very joyous, so here is a happier post, out of time and place, and just for you.

I completed my final University exam on November 23rd 2007.  I started working on the 26th November.  I had a weekend off after 5 years of study. 

I like to make things hard for myself.

My first job was at the same place where I'd completed my final practicum.  After three month's prac I went from being a student to an employee.  I wanted to impress.  I wanted to show the team I work with I wasn't a student any more; I was a professional.

Standing in the staff kitchen, I was making myself a coffee when in walked the only tolerably good-looking and single-ish (i'm not really sure if he is single, but he doesn't wear a ring) male employee.  And he's slim pickings as it is.  To explain what I mean, the four other males include a fitness freak father of six, a married neurologist who resembles Toad of Toad Hall, an androgynous neuropsychiatrist who never eats or drinks and secretary who drinks too much and has a ZZ Top beard.  Needless to say, there are no hijinx at staff parties to look forward too.

 

I'd only ever heard about this one, semi-viable yet illusive bachelor, and never seen him.  A handsome MAN at work? I don't believe it!! It's wall to wall females who eat tuna and take hormone tablets. 

So in barrels the only slightly decent man on the premises. Endearingly confused, English, floppy haired, vague and with a penchant for v-necked swearters. Just my type.

I smile at him slyly as he introduces himself and hold his hand out to me.

Now, the problem is that I don't have a filter that stops me from saying what is at the very forefront on my brain.  If a thought is formed it just fall through the cracks in the floorboards of my language centre and comes bouncing out of my mouth.  I kind of like to think that the progression of concept to utterance is like a sewing machine that hasn't been threaded properly.  The cotten gets all tangled and confused.  Just like my words.

So, what did I say? Well I stood looking at his hand, and then said:

"I can't shake your hand I'm sorry.  I just went to the toilet and my hands are still wet"

He looked at me and my hand in disgust and backed away.  I realised what I had just said, and tried to mend the situation by adding: "on, no! I mean, they are wet still from washing my hands, not wee".

It got worse because I then proceeded to dry my hands and reach out to shake his hand informing him "it's ok, they're dry now".  His response was to pretend he didn't hear me and run out of the kitchen.

Needless to say, we don't speak.