“I can’t… I just can’t with this anymore…” sighed Kellen, staring blankly at the rolling news coverage on one of the screens dotted around the office.

“I kind of feel sorry for her…” shrugged Sandra, handing Kellen a mug of tea.

“Do you?” asked Kellen. “I’m not sure I feel sorry for her. She wanted to be Prime Minister, this is what she’s been ambitiously working towards all of her career.”

“True…” nodded Sandra. “But she didn’t call the referendum. She didn’t drive buses around the country promising millions for the NHS. She’s the sucker that all those men in suits are happy to let take the fall so they can come in and take over once the dirty work is done.”

“She did vote against marriage equality…” countered Kellen.

“You gays really know how to hold a grudge, don’t you?” smiled Sandra.

“It’s one of our strongest attributes…” shrugged Kellen. “You know who I feel sorry for? The drag queens!”

“What are you talking about?” laughed Sandra.

“There’s a surprising number of drag queens out there who have built their careers around Theresa May impersonations. Jonny Woo has a Brexit musical next week. The Fagulous has a Christmas show, all based around Theresa May. They must be panic-stricken. Do they re-write their entire shows? Do they stick to the material they’ve already got? They must be glued to the news from Westminster more than a bureaucrat in Brussels!”

“There’s a drag queen called Fagulous?” asked Sandra.

“Yes. True story…” confirmed Kellen.

“Ladies and gentlemen… Please welcome to the stage… Fagulous!” announced Sandra, testing it out. “I guess it works. Are you going to watch the vote?”

“I don’t think it’s going to be broadcast live…” replied Kellen. “I imagine it will just be done in the backroom of the Tory party somewhere, and then they’ll announce the result. Anyway, I was going to go to the gym.”

“Sure…” grinned Sandra.

“Don’t say it like that!” protested Kellen. “I’m definitely going to go tonight. It’s Wednesday. I’ve got my stuff with me. I have no excuses. I’m going to go to the gym.”

“I’m going to Columbia Road…” shrugged Sandra.

“The flower market?” asked Kellen. “It’s only open on Sunday.”

“During December they do a Wednesday night Christmas market…” explained Sandra. “Mulled wine. Minced pies. Eggnog. I might buy a wreath.”

“I love minced pies!” exclaimed Kellen. “Maybe I should come with you?”

“Nope. Not an option…” declared Sandra. “I’ve got a date.”

“A date?” repeated Kellen. “What are you talking about?”

“Is it beyond the realms of comprehension that I might possibly have a date?” laughed Sandra. “A date. I’ve got a date.”

“I can’t remember the last time you had a date…” shrugged Kellen. “Who is it? Where did you meet them? Is it a guy? A girl? A cat?”

“If I could date a cat, I would - obviously…” acknowledged Sandra. “But no, it’s a guy. I met him on Tinder. He suggested we meet at the flower market.”

“You can’t go to the flower market on a first date!” exclaimed Kellen. “It’s like the ultimate relationship statement. It’s when you officially announce on Instagram that you’re seeing someone. On the first date is way too soon. This has got disaster written all over it!”

“Thank you for your support…” said Sandra. “Now get back to your desk - we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Photo by Clarisse Meyer / Unsplash

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