Nylon and shitstorms

The shit-storm at work has continued, though instead of hails of dog feces it's sort of backed down into a drizzle of batshit today. Too aggravating to explain, so suffice to say that when doing your job right is seen as a fault simply because you didn't follow the rules laid down by an organization you don't work for and don't have any responsibility to, well, maybe it's time for a job change. Or some well-placed public floggings.

The new woman across the hall from me is wearing a particularly short skirt and really sheer pantyhose today, and since she (a) has short but very nice legs and (b) has her chair cranked up really high to be close to her keyboard, she seems to be flashing views of her crotch unintentionally but regularly -- basically, every time someone stops by her cube to talk, which is often.

I had previously mentioned that she has pretty nice calves. Well, she also has the thighs to match. My tactile/visual connection is working overtime... it's way too easy to picture what the insides of those thighs would feel like against my cheeks.

I am impossible. I should do some work for once.