As the slightly dishevelled, strapping hunk from advertising slunk up to my desk I began to feel every muscle in my body tighten with the blood flow to my head seemingly blocked somewhere below my knees.

Like in a laughably cheesy movie he appeared to move in slow motion, the air conditioning ruffling his locks slightly as he passed under it.

By the time he plonked his peachy perfect posterior down in front of me terror had caused my face to contort and fix itself into an look similar to that of a bulldog chewing a wasp.

I had lusted after Damian for nine months and following many failed attempts to engage him in conversation at Christmas parties and post work drinks I decided, in my inebriated state the night before, to announce my love for him to the world. Standing on the bar of our local pub. With no shoes on and lipstick on my teeth. This visit to my desk therefore, could only be to serve me with a restraining order.

Whilst I was dying a slow and excruciatingly embarrassing death in front of my love god however, I somehow managed to hear above the din of humiliation and hangover ringing in my ears, that I was wrong.

The glorious man had not only found my declaration charming and comical but he'd also come over to return my shoes that I'd discarded to mount the bar.

As he uttered the magical words "would you like to go out sometime?" I felt lightheaded. Believing I was simply giddy with joy I leant over to take his hand and accept the astonishing invitation.

As I moved however, I felt the colour drain from my face and upon opening my mouth to speak, I violently convulsed, heaved and projectile puked all over him. The stale stench of sambuca filled the air and I knew at once, my foul hangover had timed its moment of destruction perfectly.

What happened next is thankfully a blur but strangely enough, he's never visited my desk again to confirm that date.