Down at the racetrack

You know it's a bad sign when your work colleagues start betting who of the late starters will arrive for work.

Okay, so I'm not an early bird type of person, but that doesn’t mean that your colleagues should be exchanging cash for your performance as a prized stallion. It really It sounded like we we're part of a horse derby.

I suggested, sarcastically of course, that maybe we should get our nicknames straightened out to officiate the betting process. e.g. Andrew should be called "Curly Blond" or "Goldilocks", but that idea quickly was shot down by Jared's smart-a** remark.

"Then maybe your nickname should be 'she-male' Chris?!?" making an inference to my long, beatiful and silky black hair.

The bastard. I knew I brought that upon myself.

"Are you sure you still want to go by nicknames?" Alex chimed in.

I quickly turned back to my screen, red faced while hearing Vicky laughing in the background. Maybe if I stay quiet and immobile for long, I'd blend in to my surroundings and become invisible - just like a cuttlefish.

Anyway, I took the high road instead and silently grumbled "wait 'til you see what this she-male can shove up you’re fat a**".

Now that's out of the way, It kinda made me think what horsenames we'd get if we we all played the part:

Nelle - Phar Laugh
Andrew - Goldylocks
Muhhanad - Conspiracy Theory
Vicky - Lolly Monster
Peter G - Irish Nose Best
Chantal - Shanghaiperion
Margaret - Ms Talkative
Jared - Politically Incorrect or Racially Insensitive
Claire - Half Time
Alex - Nazi Manager Sweet Tooth