Times Square: By Jove, what a fun day we had here in the office last Wednesday when we read about the new rules on sexual harassment in the workplace - a subject on which we are pretty much experts here, as I reminded our young gopher Ms Lakrspur, chucking her under her rather pretty little chin as she minced around my desk.
How she giggled! I have warned her before, of course about her flirtatious behaviour and the way she equally encourages all of us full-blooded males - she really is quite shameless.
But then again it keeps us all on the boil, so to speak! (And she knows it too, the little minx.)
Old Billy pottered in at midday, his usual three hours late. An endearing old fellow is Billy, though quite useless, yet he did not forget to throw his usual lascivious wink in the way of Ms Goodthorpe, the sultry-looking temp, who made some indecipherable comment in response and flounced off to her cubicle.
"Quite a curvaceous rump," I remarked to Billy as we watched her disappear.
Billy sighed: I do think the poor fellow is past it, but one has to admire him for keeping up appearances.
We sat down then and had a cup of coffee and a good laugh at the latest dreary and ludicrously long-winded nonsense from the so-called Employment Equality crowd, who now threaten us with unlimited fines if we aren't prepared to be good boys in the office.
Billy began to read aloud, incredulously, about "acts or conduct" now forbidden us, including "spoken words, gestures or the production, display or circulation of written words, pictures or other material" which are unwelcome and could "reasonably be regarded as sexually, or otherwise on the gender ground, offensive, humiliating or intimidating".
Billy pushed the directive away from him with an expression of horror. "Can this possibly mean," he asked, "that I may no longer leave my Penthouse centrefold open on Ms Hatchford's desk, with a photocopy of her face imposed thereon?
Or suggest to our two secretaries, whose names elude me, a foursome which does not involve golf?
Or e-mail young Ms Honeychild with diagrams which make the Kama Sutra look like a beginner's guide?"
I had to agree that things did indeed look that bad. It was quite shameful: all the fun was being taken out of office life. Billy wanted to know who was behind all this, and I mentioned the name of the Employment and Social Affairs Commissioner, Ms Anna Diamantopoulou.
"Aha!" said Billy. "Probably one of those ancient Greek hags in black skirts who haven't had a sexual favour bestowed on them in 50 years." I had to tell Harry that the commissioner actually appeared rather young and not at all bad-looking. Billy shook his head in despair.
Still, Billy is not one to lie low for long. He took another look at the news report.
"Wait a minute. She says here," he said excitedly, "that the general level of sexual harassment in member states is very poor. Surely that means we simply have to try harder! You know, improve our suggestive routines, get a better class of dirty joke, think up some new ways to make the girls blush!"
Again, I had to disappoint Billy. The Commissioner had pointed out not that the level of sexual harassment was poor, but that the level of awareness of sexual harassment was poor. The poor fellow was devastated.
At this point young Terry Chasuble strode in. A fine young man, admirable in every way, he stopped briefly at Ms Chestnut's desk, whispered some endearment in her ear and moved off.
We watched in speechless admiration as the blood rose in the rather attractive young woman's face, but already Terry had slipped unseen behind Ms Breasted's chair, dropped his hands down her hips and tickled her unmercifully.
How the well-built and quite suitably named Ms Breasted loves this regular show of affection by Terry, and how well she hides it, regularly pretending outrage and anger, until we are all in tears of laughter! The fellow is a joy to work with.
As we dried our eyes, Billy was burrowing into the directive again. "It says here," he remarked thoughtfully, " that while 40 to 50 per cent of women experience workplace sexual harassment at some stage, only 10 per cent of men experience it."
I shrugged my shoulders. "That's the way it is," I said. "Yes," he replied, with new energy, "But it doesn't have to be like this! We can campaign!"
"For what?" I asked.
"For an increase from a lousy 10 per cent!" said Harry: "We want more! We men want equality!"
What could I say, in the face of such passion and commitment? "Go for it," I told Harry.
And he went, in the general direction, I believe, of Ms Hatchford's office.
bglacken@irish-times.ie