Obviously we are upstanding citizens and never do anything that would put us on the wrong side of the law. Obviously. So why are there things that make us feel so… guilty.
The Sinful Shopping Spree
You are just… taking your time. Wondering if you can successfully channel Shiv Roy: fingering wide-leg trousers and severe polo necks in a department store. Stroking the shirts. Tickling the cashmere. And then you walk out WITHOUT BUYING ANYTHING. It feels so wrong. Will they come after you?
The Silent Killer
You are wearing your noise cancelling headphones. Maybe you are in an open-plan office and people are talking about football/Love Island/What Happens Nexit and you just want to watch J-Lo hitting that pole on the Superbowl stage over and over and over again. Or maybe you are sitting there not actually listening to anything? Just… cancelling out the nonsense. SO NAUGHTY. You have the right to remain silent…
The Secret Soak
Is there anything more illicit than coming home to a completely empty house and having a bath before 6pm? Move over Pablo Escobar, there’s a new boss in town.
The Booze Bust
You still have those moments when you look round the room and realise that there is in fact no one telling you what to do and you can do whatever you want. Like finishing the bottle by yourself. You are above the law. And on the floor.
The Telly Massacre
You normally take about three months to get through a series of something, what with all the falling asleep and the ill-advised going out plans you make when you are in an optimistic mood and have temporarily forgotten how tired you are. But there you are, like a renegade, pressing ‘next episode’ for the third time and, Jesus, Guy Ritchie should write a film about you because you are such a gangsta.
The Hand Job
Feeling wild? How about saying you’re dashing into a meeting but instead you are having a secret mani/pedi? Feeling even bolder? How about suggesting a meeting over a cheeky mani/pedi? ‘Never rat on your friends’ is the code you will die by.
The Double Murder
Let’s say you find a pair of trousers that just really work *ha ha ha* and you go back and buy a second pair. Just in case. For back-up. Or some cheap ASOS loafers that are like slippers and are going to last five minutes so *click* you order more. Express delivery. You sit in the bath like Al Pacino in Scarface shouting about how hard you work for the money, motherfuckers. Say hello to your little friends.
The Joy Ride
The Oyster tappy thing is broken and the bus driver just waves you through. You slide down the aisle feeling like a smooth criminal. A fare-dodging badass with no repercussions because he said it was OK. So it must be OK. Is it OK?
The Bank Job
You take £400 out of the cash machine. It is your money. Are you going straight to the airport, buying a ticket for the Bahamas and see you later suckers? Or is it for the dry cleaners, the florist, the cabs, the endless work birthday collections, the coffee runs, the just having a fat roll in your pocket? Sexy.
The Real Sickie
You have been known to pull the odd sickie in your long, long life. Like that time you woke up so hungover that your soul was sitting on the pillow next to you laughing and smoking a cigar. So you dialled your boss and spluttered and coughed down the phone hoping that you didn’t sound pissed but contagious. However when you are actually sick? Like really, really unwell? Somehow you just sound GUILTY not infectious.