False fag alarm

There’s been an incident in the building; everyone stay where you are.

A typically cryptic message over the loudspeakers of one of the buildings in The City, which caused Amber to call me in a breathless panic. “Tell my husband I love him and in case you need to identify me, I’m wearing a denim skirt, red top, and clean underwear in case I have to go to hospital. Phew.”

Needless to say, the panic wasn’t entirely justified. Apparently, it was because somebody had been smoking in the bathrooms – not a good idea since The City is now non-smoking, plus it’s Ramadan.

Amber called me back, panic replaced by grumpiness. “I bet it’s one of the skinny-assed models from next door. It’s bad enough that they stuff their face with pizza in front of me, which ruins my no-carb karma. Then they parade around in front of the bathroom mirrors complaining about their non-existent butts. To ruin my day by illegal smoking is just rude.”


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