Prison Widow - May Article 2012



I started a new job a few weeks ago, and whilst finding my feet and getting to know everyone, I couldn’t bloody believe it when someone told me the boss (a woman) was married to a prison officer! It makes sense now why she walks around with a face like a slapped ass! Lisa (one of the cleaners) said that on last Christmas’s works party, the boss had to be home and behind her door for 8.00pm! I suppose the only foreplay she gets is a pat-down, but I’m better off keeping my opinions to myself, because if she finds out I’ve been bitching about her, she might only allow me a five minute break on the yard.. Oops I mean in the canteen! I believe her husband is a screw in the local cat B prison nearby so thank God for deed poll! I might never have got the job under my married name eh? Ah well, onwards and upwards! Even if he was to pick his missus up from work one day, he wouldn’t recognise me anyway because I wear a wig on visits. No, I don’t wear a wig in order to pass over any illegal substances or contraband. I wear one because I once smuggled in some livestock, and my man was rumbled during a routine visit to healthcare. I’ve tried so damn hard to forgive the prison for ending the livestock’s lives via the Tea Tree, but I doubt I will ever get over it. The screws went mad because they thought the lads on the wing were scratching their heads off because they had smoked ‘something’ illegal. They’re pesky little things those head lice, so in order not to get myself banned from visiting, I wear a wig. That way, no one can blame me for anything can they?

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