Fakeness

For those of you who follow my blog, I realize there's a lot you're still in the proverbial dark about. Things like, say, my mad crush oh The Coworker (which is now less mad and more fun.) Yes, I've told you I have a crush, I've told you I think he's the hottest thing since french toast (sorry), I've even told you about my bordering-on-overtly-maternal need to make sure he's taken care of.... but there's still a lot I haven't told you.

For example, did I ever tell you that we have a (rather elaborate) running joke in which he is my fake husband? No? I didn't think so.

---- For the record, I did not come up with this joke, (he actually started it on his own after referring to "our kids" in a myspace chat,) nor have a ever (intentionally) brought up, made reference to, or in any other way initiated said joke ----

Tonight was not a night I was meant to be at work; however, a certain perpetually sick employee made it necessary for me to come in anyway. Let's just say I wasn't happy about it. Luckily for me, the term "work" was in very loose translation tonight, while the term "flirting" was much more adequately applied.

It all started when The Coworker and I were texting about a certain heavy box that he was supposed to take to the dumpster after closing. He was a little irritated at our manager for not letting him take it earlier, to which I responded by saying, "aww, don't be mad hooooney!" which in turn led to one of our many conversations in which neither of us knows what the other is talking about (apparently he didn't know that "hooooney" is just a really long way of saying "honey.") When I pointed this out, he responded by saying,

"Does this mean the usual makeup sex?"

Which sparked a rather long back-and-forth about what he was going to have to do to get me into bed (hire a babysitter, serenade me), why Viagra would not be necessary (I told him I was still as hot as ever), and the probability that I wouldn't kick him out of bed (even though he had clearly gone insane.)

The hypotheticals were very welcome for many reasons, one ultimately important one being that it kept me from being bored (a near impossible feat in Touristville.) But we must remember that this was all an elaborate joke - completely devoid of reality, not even remotely romantic, and (probably) never to be mentioned again.

But hey, it's nice to pretend. Even when your pretendings have you married off to a lazy SOB who thinks flexing his ass is going to impress you.