One hour, 26 minutes and 32 seconds until my meeting with one of my suppliers and The Dreamboat.

Rats.

Now meetings with the Dreamboat are normally momentous (even if they are for work).
I usually count down the seconds and look forward to them with alarming, heart-racing glee, but today is not one of those days. In fact today I meet the idea of a meeting with him with great consternation.
Because today I woke up with bad hair of troglodyte proportions, and the puffiest eyes that even a super-charged cocktail of Aveda eye cream, Clinique turnaround for eyes and Benefit ooh la lift couldn't help.

Added to this, I am utterly convinced that since they introduced the 'smart-business-causal-no-jeans' ruling at work, The Dreamboat has now seen every possible permutation of work clothing I have.

I was worrying about this clothing dilemma last night, and bemoaning my lack of sexy work wear with my housemate Col.

PPQ "Sweet Jesus, the man's seen practically every item of work clothing I own. I could look so much better in my favourite jeans and a cute top".

Col "Why don't you just go any buy some more clothes?"

PPQ "Can't. Skint skint, skinterty skint."

Col "Oh well, he's a man isn't he? I can guarantee you that it'll make no difference - he probably hadn't even noticed what you wore all those other times anyway."

PPQ "Harumph."

Sometimes I get that not-so-fresh feeling.

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