My boss and I have many things in common: same number of legs (two, in case you were worried); we went to the same school/terror training camp, and we both enjoy eating our breakfast granola dry – no milk, no cream, no crème fraiche, no yoghurt nor any other dairy-based contaminant.
This fact in itself is not hugely important, but I needed something to start this entry off with, right?
Anyway, the other day, we just are about to tuck in when we discover ourselves to be spoonless. I duly volunteer to rectify the situation by means of a quick raid on the staff kitchen.
“Don’t get any of the spoons with the blue handles,” says the Boss.
I should have been a bit suspicious at this point, but OK, no spoon with a blue handle it is. He’s da Boss, after all.
Trouble is, I’m totally colour-blind, so I have no idea which of our many and delightfully diverse collection of Spoons Through the Ages have blue handles. So, upon arriving at the kitchen (which has a pool table in it, incidentally) I cleverly decide to duck the issue by bringing back an all-metal spoon. No colour means no BLUE colour, right?
Damn, I'm so sharp it's a wonder I don't cut myself!
I sashay back to the office, smugly bearing a couple of metal spoons as if they are some kind of breakfast-y Olympic Torch.
Pride goeth before a fall…
Boss looks at the proffered utensil and shakes his head.
“But it’s definitely not got a blue handle,” I protest, “You said no blue handle, this has… no blue handle.” I wave it about a bit for emphasis.
“Yeah,” he sighs, “But I have this phobia about all-metal cutlery.”
You see what I have to put up with?