There is some statistic in existence that says that after the age of 25 you are 75% likely to meet your life partner through your place of work. What with being asked out by lesbians and the like, it would appear that I am amongst the remaining 25%.

For a while now (two and a half weeks) I have known that Paul, the breathtakingly cute, pocket-sized account manager who sits opposite me, is straight. But this has not stopped me having un platonic crush on him: i.e. whenever he asks me something I, ever so slightly, lose my professional cool. Also, he is incredibly private and never ever talks about anything aside from work. This is good because it has allowed me to elaborate upon the notion that he is single and therefore desperately lonely and could very well be tempted over to the dark side.

My delusions were shattered this morning when, in an unprompted and spiteful manner, he practically vomited forth the information that yesterday his girlfriend had some hair extensions put in. His girlfriend.

I hate her. Hair-obsessed bitch.