Note to self.

If, in the future, one of your female Polish coworkers is, once again, wearing a t-shirt with the single best Trainspotting-quote ever embossed on the front, it is not repeat not a good idea to circumvent the language barrier by pointing at her chest area, sticking your thumbs up in the air, and grinning like a bloody maniac.

This is the quote, by the way:

Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?

Yes, she had a big chest.

Cheers