Thou shalt not drop C bombs before 10am...

So, this morning Iain and I did our usual routine of commuting to London in the sickly, sneezing, coughing, phlegm-splosion that is the London Underground. Going up the escalator at Tottenham Court Road station, we were chatting away about getting drinks with some folks we know (and don't really like).

Iain: "Oh. Here's the thing...Bitch Face might be there."

Me: "I'm not going if that cunt's going to be there."

Iain: "Yeah. Good point."

Then the man on the escalator in front of me turns around and looks at me with the, "GOOD HEAVENS!" face people do when they're too polite to tell you that you have a dirty mouth and are going straight to h-e-double hockey sticks.

Iain and I snickered to ourselves and said our goodbyes.

Moments later I'm briskly walking up a set of stairs thinking to myself about all the emails that need to be written and how it was probably rude of me to say "cunt" in pubic before 10am (update: yes I'm aware it says "pubic" instead of "public". Precious little typo that's staying in.), and I trip UP the stairs, like all the cool people do. I tripped up, and had to do a sort of swinging manouver on the railing to prevent myself from eating it, of course, all the while yelling FUCKING HELL just in case no one heard me use the C bomb 10 seconds prior.

Right, I thought. I'm an adult I need to get my shit together and stop fucking yelling things like the F word and the C word out in front of the British people. Sure they use the F and the C words better than any other types of people I've met, but that's usually when they're drunk. And it's still only 9:06. They won't be drinking for at least 54 more minutes.

So, I get to work and we have a sweet little intern helping us out. Not sure how old he is, but I reckon he still had his soul.You know? He had that youthful, excited grin in his eyes that said, "Spreadsheets? I'd love to do those for you. I heart Excel!"

Somewhere between me calling Liz Jones a "complete fucking idiot" and asking something about why she hasn't "been assassinated yet" (I KID!) I remembered the little kiddo was in the corner, painting one of our fashion editors toenails and I figured I should probably keep my mouth shut...

So, when Kiddo decided to come over and talk the gal in the desk next to me (Hi Laura!) I realized what I had on screen.

BOOBS. I photoshopping up a collage of boob shaped products (as you do, at work), and therefore had a screen with a giant pair of boob cushions blown up so that they covered my entire monitor. I quickly minimized it, only to find another photo of boobs behind it...and behind that was my web browser, which apparently had 6 fucking tabs open, all with BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS.

I frantically minimized each one, knowing that Kiddo probably thought I was the editor of a porn site by now, and then realized that it didn't really matter that my monitor had plushie tits all over it, because I had a vagina with a pirate hat sitting on my desk the entire time.

What you can't see in this photo is that I also have a pin that says, "Billowing Pissflaps" stuck on my divider. Or the board game Nookii that's under my desk...

I think it's safe to say that I'm not ready for kids yet.