Monday, September 21, 2009M. reorganized my desk before I came into work. She added a little shelf for Octavio, placed the photos of Carmen Miranda where she can't see them (but I can), and hung my calendar upside down. My computer monitor is also turned backwards. It's a very nice surprise first thing Monday morning.
M. tells us about a dream she had.
M: "I was in this big field and there was a cage, and inside of the cage was an enormous black bull with big horns! And he was pissed! I was looking for a place to park when I got scared because the bull was bigger than my car I thought the bull would crush my Mini!
J: "Do you think your dream is symbolic of your upcoming date with The Cowboy?
I asked M. how her belly dancing date went. I thought it would make for an incredible story, but it turns out she stood the guy up.
M: "He called me 'Baby,' Jake. C'mon!"
J: "The wretch!"
A co-worker named C., who we've known for years from another team, pays me a visit. I notice a small dark blotch on her forearm.
C: "It's a birthmark."
J: "Really? It looks like you just wrote on yourself with an ink pen."
C: "I know, but I promise it's a birthmark."
M. listens to every word of the conversation, becoming more jealous by the second. She hates not being the center of attention. Thinking quickly, M. holds up her arm and asks:
M: "Oh, did you see my birthmark?"
With a black ink pen, she has drawn a little blurb of a birthmark on her forearm, just like C.'s.
After a good laugh, I mention how I was born with a weird reverse-style birthmark on the underside of my forearm. It's a white blotchy splatter that is lighter than the rest of my skin.
M. goes about her business for a few minutes, then asks:
M: "Jake, did you say you have a white birthmark?"
J: "Yeah, it's right here-"
M: "Did you see my white birthmark?"
She rolls back in her chair to reveal a hastily plastered patch of White-Out on the calf of her leg. Hilarious!
J: "You really know how to get attention, don't you?"
M: "What are you talking about? You know I've had this birthmark all my life. I'm very self-conscious about it, and here you go copying me saying you've got a white birthmark. Jake... no."
M. then illustrates her ever-impressive origami skills by making several large paper airplanes and chucking them at me while I'm busy working. For some reason, they fly in every direction but straight. The first one does an instant nose dive. The next one veers to the left and whirls three feet down the aisle to the floor.
Before she leaves, M. pulls up the Victoria Secret website to shop for panties.
M: "5 for $25! What a great buy!"
I take notice of some of the underwear models and stand up to get a closer look.
M: "Jake, go away."
J: "Wow, look at her. Mmmm..."
M: "Ew! Look at all her fat. Ew! She's gross. Ew! What's wrong with her face? Ewww"
M: "NuthING! I knew it. Men."
It's a rare occasion to see M. so jealous, but it happens. I look around for the Psychology Today magazine, but I can't find it.
M: "Jake, I'm not jealous. OK, maybe a little bit, but not that much. I'm trying to order underwear and you're pissing me off."
J: "Maybe there is a reason why you shouldn't look at underwear models on the internet at work."
M: "Jake!" (She takes her shawl and drapes it over the computer monitor and her head, blocking the screen from view.)
She really needs to read that article on jealousy.