One of the IT guys at work dropped by my office today, leaned in the doorway, flashed a conspirational grin, and was all like, "So I hear you like bacon."
And, uh... that was pretty much it. I was like, "Ummm, yep. Sure do." Then we chatted about the weather a bit. After he left I got to thinking, is that seriously the kind of thing that passes for gossip around here? I mean, I've heard some lame rumours about myself in my time, but this one takes lameness gold. Plus it's completely true. No rumour worth its salt is actually true. Who doesn't like bacon?
It's an unbelievably straight-laced crowd I work with. Guess that explains why Casual Hump Day never really took off the way I had expected. I haven't had so much as a Casual Ass Pinch, and I've been around for a lot of Wednesdays. (Of course, the H0 isn't quite as tidy, and mostly involves my being left out of loads of steamy gossip and covert cavorting, but that's clearly 99.9% unpossible so I'm going to go ahead and - very scientifically - ignore the idea altogether.)
You know, I don't watch a lot of TV, but I'm aware that there are all sorts of desperate housewives, oversexed-neurotic housewives, lonely-anxious-dissatisfied housewives, drug-dealing frappe-drinking housewives - any number of variations out there on the dysfunctional housewife theme. I was actually beginning to feel a little dysfunctional myself, for not having some charming batch of neuroses to call my own. At first I thought, what the hell is wrong with all these housewives? Stop the drama, ladies, you're giving the rest of us a complex! But now I'm wondering how much I'm actually going to enjoy living the alternative: apron-wearing, bacon-eating housewife? Working part-time, frequently-on-a-diet housewife? Two words for you: Bo-ring. They don't make sitcoms out of that, my friends.
So is this what life is really going to be like? Is this what I signed up for? Forty years of Casual Hump Day meaning nothing more than "wearing jeans on Wednesdays"? Hey, maybe if I'm lucky, next week someone will accuse me of liking something I don't like, or only marginally like, like - I don't know - salad. Maybe I can work up a good rage over salad and really get the ol' rumour mill turning:
"You... you silly goose! I never liked salad, and I never will! Salad is for hamsters and anorexics, and I am neither of those things! Now, let's talk about something billable!"
That's me, always making the most of what I've got to work with. Drama on a budget. I wonder if it's up CBC's alley...