Mans Man

I work in a very male dominated office. Most of them are true blue Aussie blokes on the older end of the scale. None fits this description better than John. He’s worked here for 35years and sits in his little corner doing his stuff and only peeking out when talk comes round to footie, cricket or baseball. He’s a tough cookie that knows everyone in the company and has in the past told stories of the days when swearing, smoking and fist fights were the norm in the office.

Over the last couple of months I have had to replace my tube of hand cream that sits on my desk next to my computer, twice. I’ve been confused by my rapid use of the stuff but this morning I found out what’s been happening.

I caught him ‘cause I got a little earlier than usual. There he was standing next to my desk, pink tube in hand. He looked really guilty…and he made me promise not to tell anyone, then promised to buy me a refill when this one was gone.

John’s been putting it on his hands in the morning and again after lunch everyday. He told me that because he was often around when no one else was he had tried it shortly after I’d started ‘cause his hands felt ‘a bit odd’ one day. He’s been doing it ever since.