So I have this interesting little complication at work.
On Thursday, Sherry, Jess (hopefully, if she's not still feeling like the black death walking), and I are going to go out and have a drink to celebrate the fact that Sherry is done with her finals. If I didn't have a date with the boy-whom-I-won't-mention-because-I'm-superstitious-and-don't-want-anything-to-jinx-this (henceforth referred to as the BWIWMBISADWATJT...I think I need an acronym for my acronym) afterwards, we'd probably be getting plastered. On a Thursday night. How trashy is that? But anyway, we'd be getting plastered and having a grand old time, because both Sherry and Jess are good-ole Southern gals with utterly un-Southern sensibilities.
My other co-worker, however, is planning to come with us. I'm going to avoid names, since she has her own real estate business and I don't want to embarrass her in a professional fashion, in case someone searches for her and, with that random one-in-a-million chance, ends up over here instead. Let's just call her...ah...Tang.
Tang is...eccentric, for lack of a better word. She's currently fixated on a man who's in the middle of a divorce and who has two children, and she cannot seem to understand why, precisely, getting romantically involved with him would be a bad idea. She seems to have sort of an intellectual grasp of the concept, but it clearly hasn't sunk in because she comes to Jess or me periodically to confirm that yes, dating the divorcing man is still a bad idea. Bad Tang. No man candy for you.
She also seems to have this unhealthy interest in me, I suppose since we're both Chinese. In any case, she intends to invite two of her friends, both apparently very nice Chinese girls, out drinking with us. And that would be fine, except that it's flagrantly, blatantly, full moon on a cold black night obvious that she intends to set me up with one (or both? Eek!) of these girls. Is it bad that my current impulse is to stand up and scream, "Get your fishy vajayjay twin-pack away from me!"
Jess has suggested that the solution to my problem comes in the form of two words: "I'm gay."
I sidestep a moment here to assure everyone that I am by no means a closet case. I'm not very flamboyant, but everyone in my work place (and all other places I frequent) knows that I'm a total queer. Everyone except Tang, that is, and I'm rather resistant to the idea of telling her. I'm not afraid of any vitriol - I could totally get her ass fired if she starts being overtly hostile around me - but the thought of having to field her questions about the matter, or worse, attempts to "straighten me out," is just wearying.
Yeah, basically I'm not telling her because I'm lazy.
I suppose I'll just let them know in no uncertain terms that I'm not at all interested, and console myself with the fact that I get to meet up with a cute, sweet, hilarious boy immediately afterward. I'm kind of excited about the prospect of getting him a flower for our second date. I was thinking something not too ostentatious - a single rose, perhaps, in lavender. Sherry has, however, been trying to convince me that I ought to get him a calla lily or sunflower or some other bug-eating monstrosity. And I'm like, "I want something sweet and simple. Not something I can use to club him over the head. I'm pretty sure we're past that stage of social development."
But dammit...the calla lily is looking pretty attractive.
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