Dear Young Master Fancyhair Who Was In the Men’s Toilets Beside My Office at 15:43 Today, You’re a disgusting pig. I don’t care how much money you spent on your designer glasses frames. I don’t give a damn how much time you spent assembling your wardrobe or preening your (sadly, rather goofy looking) hair this morning. I couldn’t care less how many hours you practiced that saunter of yours, either. If you take a crap and don’t wash your hands, you are a pig. Done. End of story. Finito. There’s no excuse. You’re not in that big a hurry. You’re …