I had an interesting, intellectually stimulating post simmering in the back of my mind.
Then there was forums, and then eating, and my cat decided that he was feeling playful, so I now have claw marks on my leg, and I got a bit tipsy earlier so my brain was already fucked up, and then I made videos (That I'm not linking to for now), and, well, that post disappeared into a vast abyss.
So, let's have a recant of my day instead.
I woke up around 9:30 to my alarm. I muttered and whined for ten minutes, got up, finished getting ready for work around 10, went back to cuddle for twenty minutes (It's a ritual I have - On days when I work, since I leave for work when he's still in bed, I get ready as fast as I can and then come back upstairs, set my alarm for about ten minutes before I have to leave, and cuddle up again so that we can maximize our cuddle time. I work day shift and he works night shift, so our schedules on days I work are completely wonked. On days I don't work, it meshes perfectly), and then left in the drizzle.
Work was alright, new stock (I swear that corporate ignores all requests from us and customers and just sends what they see we've sold) was in. I put it away. Then I had to vacuum, and our vacuum is a piece of SHIT. I swear the thing was made in the stone age. There is TAPE holding it together.
So I vacuum, and it drives me nuts because older vacuums are always so heavy and my lower back was sore as it was.
I have to turn it off when a customer comes in, and he takes forever and a day to select a fake vag, but that's no problem.
The problem was the phone call.
Some wanker calls to ask about penis pumps. Do we have electrical ones? Okay, no biggie. No, we don't. Do we carry manual pumps? Sure do - And here I notice the fapping noise. And 'Oh yeah, that's good.'
Him: "Do you carry electric pumps?" *fapfapfap*
Me: *Sternvoice* No.
Him: Oh yeah. Do you like big cock?
You wanna talk dirty? Call a PSO. That's their area of business. I just sell sex toys, lube, and porn. And lingerie that, for the most part, quite frankly looks like shit. And condoms. And novelties. But not myself, not my body, voice, words - Nothing that is of me.
I think he may have been the same jackass from last Tuesday who repeatedly asked the same questions about keeping his cock hard in a breathless voice. Who called three times in twenty minutes. When he was starting the same cycle of questions almost ten minutes after I was off the clock and therefore not getting paid to tell him about rings for his cock, I disconnected.
I love giving advice, but when you mistake my willingness to give advice / my job with willingness to be your personal masturbation fantasy, you cross a line. Go ahead, wank while thinking about me, but frankly, most of the time I don't want to hear it. If I do, I will make it clear that I do.
Would you like to know what happens when I say I'll finish a post the next night? I completely forget what else I was going to warble on about.
So I'll wrap this up by saying that I love watching Are You Being Served? on YouTube at nearly three in the morning.