Over the corridor from my office, there's another company. I have no idea what they do, they keep themselves to themselves, but I see their employees in the kitchen from time to time when I'm off in search of coffee. One of them is a stunningly flawless Chinese girl. Not only is she physically very attractive, she also has near-perfect dress sense and enviable presentation. In short, every time I see her I want to be like her. On bad girl fog days seeing her is torture, on good days a pleasure.
Today she surpassed herself with a simple crimson shift dress. This was not lost on my two colleagues who launched into one of those slightly lustful blokey conversations about her. Not too disrespectful or coarse, after all both of them are nice blokes, just the kind of reactions you'd expect from heterosexual blokes discussing such a girl.
I couldn't help myself, I joined in enthusiastically. After all, enthusing about her appearance as someone admiring her sounds very similar to enthusing about the same appearance as someone who wishes they could emulate it, and I have a larger-than-life bloke act to nurture.
I'm such a fraud, sometimes.