My Favourite Feature

Recently, KJ got himself a new car. Like all new cars, this one is chock full of fancy-schmancy features that people never knew they needed in a car until some bright spark decided they could sell convenience for top dollar.

Air conditioned glove box – for those sales reps who can’t go a whole day without their egg salad sandwich .
Dimmable footwell lights – so your feet can share the spotlight.
Tracking Headlights – so you can see around corners as you turn into them.
Size adjusting cup holders; voice controlled stereo; parking assist – you name it, this car has got it. Each and every feature left me giggling at their excessiveness.

But there is one feature – oh, this one feature that after initial scoffing has got me so hooked that I have considered selling my car to get my hands on it; or I should say – my butt on it.

Heated seats.

Ohhhhhh the gloriousness of heated seats! Those of you who have never experienced seat heating cannot truly understand the wonder of a warm, snug bum, or a gently heated spinal column.

Any man who shares a bed with a woman will know how the female derriere can often be like a firm, round block of ice. So to have a seat that warms it gently without screeching about how cold it is can only be a winner in my book.
Not only does the base of the seat warm, but the back does as well. At the end of a long day, aching muscles rejoice at the touch of the gloriously warm bucket seats.

I’ve found myself making excuses to travel in KJ’s car just for the seats. Where before I would have driven myself to work, now I find myself suggesting car-pooling most days. When we arrive at work, it’s a struggle to drag myself from the warm embrace of the car into the chill morning air and icy desk chair of my office.
Every other seat seems inferior. Even my beautiful, comfy couch has lost some of the lustre that it once had.
Even now as I type this, I’m painfully aware that my bum is quite cold.

Oh, heated seats. You’ve ruined my bum for all other chairs.

Bewitched by an email

I just got an email from a guy whose name is Darren Stevens. This made me giggle, so I told some other people at work. None of them understood why it was amusing. Suddenly I feel quite old.

Also, I can't get the theme song from 'Bewitched' out of my head now.

Parental Advisory - Explicit Content

**If swearing offends, I suggest not reading this. Or at least not complaining when you read it and become offended**

For the best part of the last two weeks, KJ was on a work trip overseas. While this meant many things, (of which I've tried to write; and failed) one main thing that came about was that it left me at work with no well-mannered influences.

I’ve written before about the fact that I am the only female who works in the company, and the ill-effects of a primarily female-free environment on the general hygiene and behaviour of the men around me. What I probably haven’t mentioned before is that in this building, there are really only three office staff – KJ, the company owner and myself. But KJ and the boss both headed to the USA for this work trip, which left me with just the guys in manufacturing. And the guys in manufacturing are the ones who seem to be most affected by the lack of female influence.

I am fully aware that you shouldn't judge people based on stereotypes; however, in the case of my workplace the stereotype that factory workers tend to be slightly more foul mouthed than their office co-workers is fairly apt.

Now, I’m no angel normally. I have been known to let a profanity or two slip on occasion. Many occasions. Okay, I'm a little foul-mouthed too. But with restraint!

Ordinarily, bad language only slips in when I’m really annoyed, or being very vocal about something that has upset me. But without the influence of the other office staff who are very carefully restrained with their language, and now that all my time has been spent with the factory guys, I have found myself swearing like a trooper. And the more time I spent without KJ, the more profane my language seemed to become.

To prove my point, here are three sentences that I spoke last week that I managed to slip a profanity into that really didn't need one - and that ordinarily wouldn't get one. Through these, you can clearly see my gradual decline into the profane over the course of the week.

MONDAY
Factory Guy 1: We're going to get kebabs for lunch, do you want one?
Me: Awesome! I fucking love kebabs!

WEDNESDAY
Factory Guy 2: We have a problem - we just got a delivery of hardware, and there are 5000 dynabolts instead of 500. It looks like recently-fired-projects-guy stuffed up the order.
Me: Oh for fucks sake, is there anything that fucking idiot didn't fuck up?

FRIDAY
Factory Guy 2: Factory Guy 1 is complaining about doing his job again.
Me: For fucks sake, can no one fucking do their fucking job without fucking having a fucking whinge about it?

Now it’s Tuesday, and KJ and the boss are both back. The trouble is the swearing wants to stick around. The vulgar side of my language centre has been released – and it doesn’t want to go back to its carefully kept prison in my brain.

I have to pay incredibly close attention to everything that I’m saying so that I can appear to be the same no-nonsense person that I am without coming off like I hate everyone and everything. And it’s hard! I’m not sure I can go back from here. I’ve been trying very hard to rein myself in, but these little profanities keep slipping their way out. I’m worried this might permanent – and what do I do if it is?

Basically, there’s only one thing I can say about my new found language skills at this stage.

I’m fucked.