You Know, Not Everything is Sexual Harassment

It’s true that I am your direct supervisor, but I am also a human being…A human being who is just as prone to observation as the next.  Just because I said I like your new shirt does not mean that I am referring only to the part where your luscious bosoms peek out like two firm alabaster honey-baked hams that have been roasted to perfection and lie waiting for yet another layer of glaze from my professional-quality baster.  In fact, I mean nothing of the sort.  I happen to be a big fan of cotton.

And just because the shirt’s color matches the color of your eyes, you may not interpret this harmless observation as evidence that I am captivated by the azure shimmer of your godlike irides – or that I could swim for days in your glance, or that I am incapable of interpreting your annoyed glare in the manner it was intended because I am entirely preoccupied with the notion that I would brutally slay a great number of infants for little more than a moment alone with those eyes.  Lady, the shirt is blue…your eyes are blue.  If I’m not allowed to point out something as obvious as that, I don’t know why I even bother to come in and hold your hand during every menial task within your scope of practice.

Speaking of your hands – If you don’t want me to notice your soft touch and and French manicure, then don’t invest all the time and money on them…jeez! I mean seriously, let’s pretend that I am building a house…and as I build this house I spend years finding the best and most beautiful of all building materials and assorted accoutrements to affix to said house.  After all of that extra money, time and effort I spent to make my house better and more beautiful than all the other houses, I would be disappointed if you didn’t say something about my house.  I used the same logic when observing that your hands were well lotioned and your nails well manicured.  It’s not like I was imagining you running those hands up and down my hairy, corpulent, middle-aged body or anything.  I mean, just because somebody notices your hands doesn’t mean they sit up at night fantasizing about you laying naked next to them, swirling each individual digit around their torso…teasing until they just can’t take it any more.  So you’ve got soft hands…big deal, so does my mother-in-law.

And yes – your lips are full and perpetually moist…it goes without saying that the description of your black hair is like a legend passed down from generation to generation…and yes, that skirt your wore two Thursdays ago fit you better than so much plumbing that was designed to fit so tightly together as to prohibit liquid escaping from within – what can I say…I am an observant guy.  It’s not like I drink too much at night and imagine peeling off the aforementioned skirt and feeling those moist lips on my skin while the ends of your gorgeous hair tickle my external organs…I spend my nights playing chess with myself and building ships in bottles.  Jesus, Karl…lighten up…not everything is sexual harassment.