Out of tune

During the meeting with my boss, music reverberates through the walls and filters its way under the crack of the door. The song is Buttons by The Pussycat Dolls - a favourite amongst the brass pole set.

While we’re sitting in our respective chairs (she behind her desk and me in front of it), I can’t fight the feeling to want to start to sing and dance. The beat, the lyrics, the video, all of it inspires me to shake my ass.

As she’s going over a document I prepared on her computer, I let out a little snippet, here and there…

“I’m telling you loosen up my buttons, babe. Ah ha…” I say softly. “But you keep frontin’. Ah.”

She continues to look at the monitor.

“Saying what you goin’ do to me. Ah ha…” I say a little louder. “But I ain’t seen nothin’.”

She continues to look at the monitor.

“I’m telling you loosen up my buttons, babe.” I do a hair flip. “But you keep frontin’.” I put my hand up to my face, and gently pull on my bottom lip.

She continues to look at her monitor.

“Say what you will do to me. Ah ha…” Another hair flip to the side. “But I ain’t seen nothin’.”

While the song continues, I sing it – softly – in my chair, occasionally moving around, as if I was in the Francis Lawrence-directed music video.

After the meeting is over, she says the report just needs a few subtle changes. I don’t think she noticed if I was singing in her office, or not. If she did, then she does a pretty good job of keeping her Simon Cowell-like comments to herself.

At least it’s not like the time where I was belting Vision of Love and sang the long vocal run at the end of the song in the middle of the office.

Hopefully, everyone had left for the day.