:: GussetBLOG ::

:: Monday, April 02, 2007 ::

Suspect

Over the weekend we hired a belt sander to take the floor paint off of our concrete dinning room floor, in perpetration for tiling. I heaved the beast of a machine into the car this morning so Mrs P could drop it back at the shop on her way into work.

My work trousers are now covered in concrete dust, from ankle to groin level. I stood on the bus stop trying to bush it off without success. As the traffic flew past I started become more and more self conscious of it, gave it another brush, gave up, waited a bit and tried to ignore it, started again. It’s developing into a nervous groin brushing tick, which is more embarrassing in itself.

I feel like the criminal suspect aware of some latent evidence that needs to be removed but know I can’t do it. I still futilely sweep at it now and again. Maybe it is my guilty conscious that has led me to posting this string of excuses here? For all you know I could have just stuck a body under my dinning room floor in broad daylight.

If you see me buying new trousers at lunch time and depositing the old ones in a public bin call the police. In the mean time I’m just going to go and rub myself again. Any excuse, eh?

Labels: Humour, Personal

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