Ding Dong Bell, Pussy in the Well

This afternoon, while having my lunch, I recalled an embarrassing moment 8 years ago.

I participated in the annual team building organised by the HR department of my ex-company. One of the activities required teams to run, retrieve some placards in a box and form a nursery rhythm with the placards retrieved.

I was taken aback by the enthusiasm showed in these uncles and aunties (most of them in their mid 40s and 50s) racing up and down across the room, retrieving plac-cards, yelling and hollering, desperately trying to instruct their teammates to form the correct nursery rhythms.

Suddenly, an uncle who resembled my F math lecturer in JC (greyed side-burn, wide and big silver-framed glasses), hollered across the room albeit catching his breath: “Where’s the pussy, Where’s the pussy”.

A Lao-Chio auntie (gorgeous matured lady) replied “ Here. Here. Here lar…”

I swore I had had never laughed so hard.

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That uncle was the HR director and the Lao Chio auntie was the MD secretary.