“Coochy – Coo”

“Arrhhhhhhh”

“Peep–o!”

“thrbrbrbrbrbrbrrbbrbrbrbrbrbrb”

That last one is a Raspberry being blown, obviously.

No, I have not become an affiliate site for C-Beebies, and this is not some new-fangled technique for effective brainstorming being adopted by Captains of Industry such as myself.

It is what happens when a baby is brought into the office. The screetching and wailing and jostling for a better look was reminiscent of a dog getting loose in the playground at school.

Debra is a girl from our office. She has been off on Maternity leave (paid) for what seems like an age, whilst the team have been left to jointly pick up the excess workload, sales targets etc.. (that is another story for another day).

Debra is back. With a pram. With a ‘baby’ in it.

“Hi Angry, I have brought baby Johnny in to show the office!” she gleamed holding her bundle of joy out before her.

“Maybe your husband should have worn one in the first place“, I muttered under my breath.

“Pardon?”

“Lovely to see you, cute kid,” I replied. I then made my apologies and scuttled away on the pretence I had something terribly important to attend to.

Now, I know that everyone says that their child is beautiful, but seriously, there are some truly horrendous looking babies out there. And this was one of them. I did not know whether to offer my condolences or call NASA and let them know the invasion had begun. Perhaps they could try and return it to its home planet?

Then there is the random baby paraphernalia like the Pram, blankets and bottles and stuff. Whenever I see these things I cannot help but envisage them directly underneath some large fluorescent signs flashing “long term” “commitment” “in-laws” and other terrifying phrases.

For some unfathomable reason it is also considered ‘bad form’ to make it clear that I am not interested in the alien baby, even though a locked office door does nothing to drown out the violent shrieking of a child kidnapped from its home world millions of light years away.

In the midst of the pandemonium I consider how to make the most out if this horrendous situation.

The cluck (for this is the collective noun for broody women) is now about fifteen strong and I sense an opportunity. I can practically hear the clucks egg being produced as their reproductive organs kick into ‘ovary-time’. I open my desk top draw and after searching my emergency office survival kit I offer my neck a quick squirt of expensive cologne. I stroll into the crowd of women and dust off one of my favourite ever lines.

“Children are so rewarding, I would love to have them one day.” I say earnestly with a sigh.

“Oh Angry, I didn’t know you like children?” responds attractive office girl number 1, as she places her finely manicured hand on my arm.

This line never fails.

Perhaps baby space aliens do have a part to play in modern society? However, I will not be making the same mistake as Debras husband and will be ‘wrapping up’ well at the Christmas party in a couple of weeks.

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