Monday, April 24, 2006

My play for lambchops is rebuked.

I share my MAXIcube with a Irishman named Michael. He's considered charming as hell, which I think is a result of being prematurely gray and sort of otter-like.

Rob, our boss, came across Michael walking back from the market in the pouring rain, pulling his thin Adidas jacket across his narrow Irish shoulder, carry a sad little salad.

Rob:"Michael, you look pathetic. You like lambchops? I'll buy you some lambchops for lunch." (I think potato famine guilt came into play.

When I heard this, my jaw dropped. FUCK! Why couldn't I be pathetic and charming? I love fucking lambchops!

So I took to sighing conspicuously in front of Rob. Haunting doorways, looking forlorn.

Nothing fucking works. The problem is I'm not charming.

Finally, Rob is telling the story of buying lambchops for Michael to a woman we work with. "He looked so sad with his little salad in the rain."

I clear my throat... Rob looks up.

"I have a profound despair that only lambchops can assuage."

Rob laughs. My lack of sincerity FUCKS me again.

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2 Comments:

Blogger G. said...

And see, for a while, I was thinking you meant Sheri Lewis' protein packed partner.

4:12 PM  
Blogger Greg Mills said...

She never says no. She's a handpuppet. And that's true from Lambchop, too.

4:13 PM  

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