That question.

Today, I’m a happy bunny.

It was a really late night at the office, as usual. I woke up at the crack of 11am. After feeding Meowie and Jiggles, I rushed through my morning routine and rushed back to the office.

After trawling through The World’s Most Fucked Up Car Park, I tried to look inconspicuous as I walked past my new colleagues, hiding behind my stunnaz. (This is still only my second week at work, after all.)

Two more cubicles to go, and I was home free. Now usually, these last two colleagues (let’s call them “A” and “B”)are never there when I stroll in first thing in the morning. By now, it was perilously close to lunchtime. And there they were. Both of them.

*deep breath*

GO!

As I was about to grab the doorknob to my team’s room, A stops me.

A: (to B) Should we just ask him?

B: Ask him la.

Me: Err…

A: Can we ask you something personal?

Me: …umm…sure.

A: But don’t get offended, ok?

Me: …ok…

(awkward pause)

A: Ok. Are you gay or straight?

(awkward pause)

(some more awkward pause)

(and a little more)

Me: .……………you know, I’m really flattered you even thought to ask me that. But I’m as straight as they come. Does that answer your question?

A: Yes. Thank you. Don’t be so full of yourself.

Me: *grin*

Now, before you draw your own conclusions about my orientation, I am not confused. I like rock music, cars, sports, computers, Girls Gone Wild and all that stuff. So go figure.

But in my little cynical world, getting mistaken for being gay is a compliment.

It means you have a decent haircut.