Dear Client Here for Meeting with my Terminally Late Boss:
Yes, I think your children all sound like the best and brightest children ever to have been born, and I'm quite certain that given time, they really will run this country, and your dog certainly does sound like a little rascal. I do have one small question for you, however: Is it really likely that I have eyes in my BOOBS? Do you think I haven't noticed that your eyes never once crossed the boundary between the top of my blouse and my actual face?
Yeah, actually, I do think it's kind of cold in here - but that's because my legs are freezing and not because my nipples are hard, and don't think I didn't notice you looking. Hell, I'm staring you dead in the face and anyone else given this kind of intense scrutiny would have the decency to blush or look away, but you haven't noticed yet because you are too concerned with trying to look down my top. Hey, don't think I haven't been thinking of standing up and flashing you Mardi Gras style just so you'll GET THE FUCK OVER IT, but I'm a little worried that you might seize up and keel over, in which case I'd be forced to give you mouth-to-mouth (can't even plead ignorance as my boss knows I know CPR) and honestly, the thought of having to touch my lips to yours makes me want to barf. Jesus. They're not going to do tricks, bub. Really. I'm not wearing tassles, either, so whatever stripper fantasy you're engaging in - and I know you are from the glazed look in your eyes - WHICH I AM STILL STARING INTO - forget it. Oh. Hi. There you are. You looked at my face. Yay you. Yep, right back down into the cleavage, huh? You are some kind of wonderful, for sure.
Oh, my boss will see you now. You have a great meeting and let's get together and do this again real soon, ok, sport?