Updated(aka the severe paucity of any worthwhile meeting to sleep through)

Cold.
Not is an Isabella Rossellini on the cover of an uber-chic French publication way but more in a my-nether-regions-are--now-dispersing-ice-cubes way. The immediate manager is foaming at the mouth because her inadequacies are now seeing the light of the day. Its miraculous that this behemoth doesn't collapse like a house of cards considering the number of inefficient people we have promoted in the last couple of months. She tartly messaged me an over the top sarcastic email that was an unfortunate copy of one of my one. Sent to her a day ago. And she is structuring a presentation on email etiquette . Touche!
By the by, three of my delegates haven't shown up for training and the reasons are as listed. Pick the fabricated one.

• I am alone at home and since there is noone to dress my niece for school, I will show up post lunch.
• I hit a dog on my way to work and now the animal activists have taken me to the precinct.
• I got up late coz I wasn't aware of the schedule change.

Yes, you are right. It's the last one. Now will you swap places with me while I melt a bucket of Rocky Road and sip it ever so gently with oily mithai on the side?

Did I mention about bout the young onion I am often forced to endure at work?

The Norweigan is getting terribly incongruous and prosaic. And here we thought he had some undiscovered promise, showed latent talent for the funnies. None, though. He refuses to entertain and is currently unfurling his limbs at the other training facility, while pouting bout the tragic 20+ years he has managed to wreak havoc on this harlequin planet. The man has suddenly morphed into a bickering biddy from Elizabethan times grumbling bout creating a "cocoon to shield from the human kind". And to think, he was almost cute in his desolation. This is what swapping of spit and saliva afflicting bacteria do to a normally effervescent soul.

Also, men make trite women. No, really, they do.

This just in. The sordid ex is getting hitched next year, the blasted flying girl cum childhood wank buddy. Apparently size doesn't matter. Not to her atleast. I am contemplating more reproachful things to say but all the ill-will around me hasn't inspired my inner Medusa yet. Wait a minute. A long minute, that is.