The atmosphere in the CVS conference room has totally changed. Many years ago it was all about basketball and women and boobs and more boobs. Last year, it was all about make-up and hair rebonding. This year, we brought the ambiance to a higher, denser level.
My batch mate Diva and I have been talking about penises lately. To the consternation of our seniors, we have been very vocal about our envy for Maricar and Katrina. Yeah right, you righteous women out there, cast the first stone. I'll be perfectly honest. Say it out loud, we would have loved to be in Maricar's place (sans the video). Women with substance should know how to keep their mouths shut, and they should know how to scream...
But going back to the penises, Diva has hilariously described the difference between a man with a height of 5'11" and another who's a 6'2", and how (s)he'd rather have the shorter one but with the longer down-under. I said it doesn't matter. There's always the tongue. And the finger. Yes the finger. But of course since I no longer smoke, I would say "no" to a cigarette but would probably consider a Cuban cigar.
One hungry afternoon, Diva said he wants bread. Then, lo and behold, a med rep came along with raisin bread straight from Baguio Country Club - those long, hard, thick French rolls that come wrapped in brown paper. All fresh and warm. Diva and I exchanged glances. This is good omen for the month.
Our seniors, all of them oozing with testosterone, glared at Diva and me. They left the bread alone. Diva and I devoured it. Some people just do not realize what they're missing.