Weird Pants

So what age are you going to be next week then?

Asked the comedian who had stopped at my desk.

I looked up at the clown-faced man. Corduroy on the bottom half and some manner of mountain fleece on the top. That's IT-wear for you.

I will be the age I currently am but with an extra year on top.

Said I, rather haughtily. As if showing a doctor my scrotum.

Oh come on, you little tease! Is it forty or fifty?

I was aghast. Like there is no difference between the two? When I was in my twenties I actually shed a genuine tear at the idea of turning thirty left alone forty or fifty. When I was in my thirties I managed to ease away the pain of turning forty by drinking and smoking a lot. _{(and other things but sshh, that's a secret!)}

A foul and nasty retort was on the tip of my tongue but I remembered the old Sci-Fi show 'V' - not the new one, which was pants except for saucy minxy, elf-lady Diana. In that show, an old man says something nice about Aliens or something, or he doesn't.

Anyway, They all get rounded up and killed and eaten by said aliens. It was the eighties.

Somewhere in between might be more accurate ya mad dobber.

I considerately replied.
_{Dobber, of course being Glasgow slang for dick. But with more contempt.}

He growled slightly at the dobber word.

Aye, well enjoy signing on for your pension!

He smiled victoriously as if sniffing a strangers bra.

Mad dobber!

I shouted after him.

A few people nearby raised their eyebrows. I glared at them as if I suspected them of feeding one of my cats (who is blatantly on a diet) salmon pate. I realised I was standing and hurriedly sat back down. Too late though. I spotted El Jefe coming over.

He stopped in front of me and rubbed a hand over his bumpy belly, like a stubbly lapdancer a fifth his weight.

What's this boomdawg?

What?

I said patiently.

I hear it's your birthday next week? You having a night out?

Yes it's my birthday and no, I am not having a night out on account of having a four-month-old baby that tries to communicate through the medium of scream five times a night.

El Jefe Looked put out as if his Mother had gotten a tattoo of my face on her chest.

Whatcha mean? No night out? Arent you fifty? Isn't that a milestone?

He grinned at his own cheek to an invisible audience.

I grinned back.

Your fly is undone and everyone can see your weird pants.

He pawed at his groin in horror and backed off whilst trying to button himself up.

and you're a fanny.

I whispered happily to myself.