Today I went to work.
It was... fine. (This is where my friend Paul would say, "fine is the F-word!" but I don't care, I simply cannot think of a better word. Sue me if you must.)
The Co-worker and I actually spent quite a few hours side-by-side this afternoon (which between you and me, is probably a few hours too-many. See evidence below.) The store was moderately busy, I was busily (and somewhat happily) doing little projects (orders, receiving) near my register, and he was busily (and complacently) doing whatever he was doing (other projects, of which I have little interest) by his.
Now, you would think that with all the work that was actually (for once) taking place on a somewhat-busy Monday, there would not be much occasion for talking, arguing, and socializing in general. Not so. (Topics included were: I heart Andrew Bird, The Co-worker's rather odd competitive side, and boats, obviously.)
Things got a little heated when the discussion turned to Second Saturdays, and I told him, rather blatantly, that although he habitually stalks my Myspace and makes fun of me on Facebook, that we are "not friends in real life." He didn't seem to take this part well, conceivably because it indicated an actual human emotion, and not just witless banter (our usual, and preferred, mode of communication.) After the initial exasperated (or was it just shocked?) response of "What?!" he concluded that I was mad at him... or if not mad (I told him I wasn't,) than disappointed. This was obviously not a favourable conclusion to him either, as he told me, quite a few times, that I "couldn't be disappointed with him." (As in, "please don't be disappointed with me," only without the "please" part.) To which I replied, "Why not?"
In case you have absolutely no idea what the hell I am talking about when I say, "the discussion turned to Second Saturdays," let me just do a VERY SHORT re-cap. About a week ago, I asked The Co-worker to go to an art/music shin-dig that I would be going to as a part of the local Second Saturday festivities. Being that The Co-worker is both artist and musician, this is a rather obvious sort of thing for him to take part in. However, he said no, he would much rather stay at home. I then felt rejected, obviously, but he apparently never knew this. (To which I say, "Idiot." But not out loud.) Today, the discussion turning to Second Saturdays basically translates into the Co-worker and I doing verbal fisticuffs ("fighting") over why, in any rational universe, he WOULD NOT be interested in going. Ever. Let me just conclude this paragraph by saying that, if one has to successfully argue a point in order to convince a certain person to go out with them, it probably wasn't worth it to begin with.
I would like to say that my rather shaky quick-draw of the guilt card eventually resulted in a win, but sadly, such is not the case. In the end (after the "you can't be disappointed in me's" and "why not's" were over,) the subject was dropped, changed, and forgot about. But not really, at least by me. Obviously.
(God, we really are like an old, married couple. No wonder he jokes about our kids. Idiot.)