Why shagging your colleague is a catastrophic mistake

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?  Au contraire – hell hath no fury like a woman whose reputation has been tarnished. 

My oh-so-stupid mistake from 6 months ago is back to haunt me with a bang.  I have been reliably informed that he talked.  Bastard. That he is fact indiscreet. Fucking prick. 

Why oh why do men feel the need to brag about their conquests?  I’m mortified – and still having to deny it and deny all knowledge is really unfair and difficult.  Why can’t it just be allowed to die?! It was a massively stupid thing which occurred after hours of heavy drinking. 6 months ago! When will it be allowed to be put to rest? 

I cannot comprehend the male mentality. Why do they feel the need to degrade and humiliate women? 

Wake up lads.  It’s not the 19th Century anymore.  Calling someone a slag doesn’t make you cool, with it or decent.  It makes you a prick.  The world is tough enough for women without you having to make it harder by destroying someone through gossip and loose tongues.  Mummy (should have) taught you that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything – and that’s very much the case here.  Keep your fucking mouth shut!  Especially when said encounter was less than explosive and much effort was put into trying to come, to have all that hard work literally thrown back at you is rather .... aggravating. 

 

I kept my mouth shut.  Not only out of embarrassment for breaking my cardinal rule, but out of respect for his fiancée – who I didn’t know existed.  So to learn that said wankstain has been running his mouth and telling people about it, I feel sick.  It’s bad enough I have to face Mr Moobs on a daily basis, but to learn that he had the audacity to put it all the responsibility on me and to – actively, and out of choice – tell people about it.... Grr.  You clearly have no respect for her either.  And yes you may have made me look like a ho, but how would you look if I were to open my mouth?  Internal kiss’n’tell time, perhaps?

 

Sadly there is nothing I can do about it.  I cannot countenance telling the truth – not to so many people, and certainly not in the workplace.  I will not engage in a ‘you’re a bigger whore than me’ war of attrition – and neither do I want to confess to my spectacular embarrassment of being so drunk that he looked sexy.  Beer goggles?  More like 18th century plush lovingly restored floor-length beer drapes with linings fitted to guarantee shrouded darkness. 

 

I do so wish I could throw something at his head.  Preferably a hard heavy and blunt object.  But that would be unprofessional.  I am a professional in every sense – but do not call me a whore.