Work repartee

So, I'm sitting at my desk, minding my own business. (Wearing a headset, for those interested.) Typical temping day, blablahblah. Coffee, typing, trolling internet. The yoosh, to say the least.

A woman I haven't met approaches my desk and takes the key for the bathroom.

This, my friends, is the exchange that follows:

Middle-aged office lady, laughing: "You must be wondering why I have to take the bathroom key every fifteen minutes. You must think I'm pregnant or something!"

Me, bewildered by the forwardness of her statement, considering that I was, in fact, wondering why she went to the bathroom so much: "No, no! Hahaha! I don't care! 'Do whatcha gotta do,' right?"

[Awkward pause. ]

MAOL: "Well, you want to know the truth? [Me: Maybe, but I doubt that's what you're going to tell me.] I am so itchy. I try to stop, but I just have to keep going to the bathroom!"

Me, mouth agape, scary smile of awkwardness on my face, dear-in-headlights-eyes: "I'm...sorry...?"

MAOL: "Oh, no! Oh, nonononono! I'm so itchy on my back. I just go into the bathroom, strip naked and slather my body with lotion."

Me: "Oh, really." [Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh sheeeeeeit. What have I gotten myself into?]

MAOL: "...Yeah. So, just in case you were wondering why...That's why! I just didn't want you to think I was some sort of freak or something!"

Me: "Oh, heavens no!"

And...scene.