Monday, June 12, 2006

Don't cry over sour milk.

My relationship history has become a bit of a running joke at work. The on-again-off-again drama with a certain ex-someone is laughable in any context, but I get teased mercilessly at my place of employment. This probably has something to do with the fact that Ex and I worked together, and when I say "worked" what I really mean is "fought". Because everyone at work knows him, everyone at work asks about him. Because everyone at work is nosey, everyone asks about us.

Today, one of my favorite managers asked about Ex's well-being. Before I could formulate an answer, my manager was laughing at me. Maybe it was the huge sigh I let out, or the fact that my eyes became red lazer beams and steam was shooting out of my ears. Anyhoo, I gave the politically correct answer and tried to change the subject. He wasn't having it.

"You're Sour Milk Girl!" He shouted at me. He even pointed.
"What the? I'm who?" Really. I don't even like milk.
"You're Sour Milk Girl. You have milk in your fridge. It's been in there, but you don't drink it for a while, and then you have a craving for milk so you pour yourself a glass. You take a drink, only it's gone bad. You spit sour milk all over the kitchen. And then, Nicole? And then you know what you do?"
"I don't know, bribe one of the kids to clean it up?"
"I do?" A beat. "I do."
"And then you know what you do?"
"I do." A beat. "I do!"
"You leave it in the fridge, thinking that it'll get better! Well, let me tell you something, Nicole. It's sour milk, and it's gonna stay sour. It's time to throw it out."
"I get what you're saying, Mike... but... I think I'm just kinda hoping that eventually I'll have some cottage cheese."
"No, Nicole, not gonna happen. And the worst part about you? As far as this metaphor is concerned, you're lactose intolerant."

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