Priiiiiiiiiiivate Parts!

My co-worker, K, has recently had a circumcision. I am not really supposed to know this, but T outed him. It went something like this:

T: K, tell Emily what surgery you're getting.
K: (All eyes on him, noticeable silence, looks uncomfortable)
T: Go on, tell her.
K: (more silence, you can feel waves of embarrassment radiating from him, he has practically broken a sweat and refuses to look me in the eye)
T: (brays) PRI-I-vate parts!

I know, now, why K had surgery, and hasn't been able to ride his bike recently. Apparently one of the regulars, Ch, heard about this and told K about his troubles down there, meaning, for some reason he had to have his testicles removed. He showed K part of the scar, down there. Of all the things I could know about Ch, that's probably the thing that I least wanted to hear.

I made french fries for the first-ish time today (I made them once before, when I worked briefly for the Cambridge Uni physics lab cafeteria, but that was easier because there was a timer) because T thought that I knew how to do it. So J (another co-worker) showed me how to do it and I did it! I was kinda proud of myself. Not that it's hard or even requires skill, I was just so sure that I was going to monumentally fuck something up. you know, scald myself with hot oil or accidentally fry something gross (or inedible, like a napkin or celery or something equally ridiculous) and serve it to the Water Polo Club (the recipients of the fruits of my labor) who would eat it and either be too polite to say anything or would tease the crap out of me or never come again and they are one of the mainstays of the P.
But then, I am only working there for 2 more weeks! Hurrah!