She's alive!

Back from the strange, sometimes mawkish sometimes delightful, parallel universe of Moving House".

So I give you not tales of sorting books, negotiating gas ovens, repairing doors and taps. But a cute couple of moments at work where my worlds collided most heartily last week.
Professional conduct versus bloodlust.

A friend at work comes up to me when I'm at the circulation counter.
She's all dolled up, so I ask why she's looking all pretty. Apparently she has an appointment to duck out to.
I lean in and say, in my lecherous best; "You smell pretty too".
"No" she says, "I'm not wearing any perfume".
Oh.
She looks around to see who the culprit might be, only to find a colleague of ours cleaning computer keyboards with alcohol wipes!
Oh. My. God.
I was absolutely mortified.
Unbelievable.

Needless to say, the cleaning colleague proceeded to follow me around cleaning and teasing for the next few minutes. (Not so) innocently asking "Is there anything dirty around here that I can clean?"
"My brain" I mutter.

Eventually, of course, I had to banish her to the other end of the desk... "and take those infernal wipes with you!".

Incident 2:
Concentrating on my lunch in the tearoom, reading a mag (feeling righteous because it's The Big Issue, not the usual tearoom hand-me-down trash).
Colleagues are talking about snakes shedding their skin and talk turns to 'what if as humans, we could shed our skin?'
Someone comments that we'd probably have to take flexi days for it.
"Excuse me, I can't come in to work today, my skin is beginning to slough".
And of course I pipe up with the thought that a library would be dangerous the day after.
What with the risk of paper cuts on soft fresh skin. You'd cut deep and bleed a lot wouldn't you!.
*blink*
Talk about conversation killer.