Putting my foot in it

‘Fuck off Mr. Lowenstein, fuck right off! And you know what, it was me with your wife at the Christmas party you clueless son of a bitch!’ And with that I stormed out. I’d finally done it, I’d quit my job and in some degree of style I might add, except I don’t think Mr. Lowenstein was actually married, in fact I’m pretty sure his wife died of cancer a few years ago.

The looks I got as I left the office were one’s of, ‘Don’t you feel like a cunt now.’