I realized that we haven’t had an update recently on one of the freakiest characters that inhabit my life. The wild and woolly Stealth Dater Boy has never disappeared, his daily presence as much fun as nails on a chalk board. Thankfully, the people at our Wednesday dinner have taken pity on me and begun hiding me from him, tucking me between really talkative people who never allow enough pause in conversation to let him get a word in edgewise. Yes, it’s sad. And pathetic. And loserish. However, you tell me what other options I have! I’ve all but tattooed it on my forehead that he’s one of those things that make me go “eeeewwww.”
What really makes me want to scream at him are the inane questions he uses to interrupt my work and make me talk to him. I just want to stuff a frilly pink parasol up his ass and open it. I mean, I’m working dammit! Go bug someone else. I don’t know the intracacies of your work, if I wanted to be in your department I would have majored in the subject. Argh!
And then! Then! This one’s the worst, people, the cake-taker. He had the utter gall to tell one of MY FRIENDS (and duh, like that wasn’t going to get back to me) that he would be more attacted to me if I weren’t fat.
Oh. My. God.
Someone hand me a gun. An elephant gun. I’m gonna put the motherfucker out of my misery.
The irony here? I am fat, but guess which one of us is fatter. It ain’t me, folks! I say again, argh!
