They wanted to put our new techie, a friendly, ponytailed warhorse, into the cubicle next to me in the office I share with my four other female coworkers. My cowboy boss, resisting this attempt to pasture a foreign bull with his cows, decided instead to give his private office to the techie and move into the cramped space neighboring mine. As Nabokov would say, “Welcome, fellow, to this bordello.” He has already warned me not to sit too close to him, though I’m not sure whether the implication is that I will jump him or he will jump me. But as long as he keeps co-writing my term papers I don’t care.
If all the flights departed on time, the Lad should have landed in Cairo about a half hour ago I think. I am of course intending to be miserable without him. So far I’ve been able to replace him in my life with macaroni’n’cheese and “The Secret of Monkey Island,” but I have my doubts about how long these pleasures can hold me. And while it is true that chocolate bars, when used correctly, can substitute for sex (I favor king-sized Mars Bars), what can I use to replace true love? Maybe Ben & Jerry’s makes a flavor for this.