April 01, 2011
Cute Headband
You guys, I have a new crush! Her name is Sasha.
(And now my Mom is thinking, "For Pete's sake, can't she ever have a crush on a boy?!)
(And Heather is thinking, "I will cut this bitch." Heather, my love, don't worry -- they are all but fleeting trifles. You know I ruv you.)
And here's where it gets kinda creepy: She works with Husband. She's the receptionist. I know, right?! You're all thinking, "Haven't I seen this porno...?" Okay, maybe Mom isn't thinking that.
I met her at Husband's Work Christmas Party, which I wasn't quite as upset about going to this time because I knew there would be people there older and less hip than I, so it wasn't nearly as intimidating as previous parties filled with glittering twenty-somethings who thought of me as their ancient boss' ancient wife.
Anyhoo, my go-to ice breaker with anyone, if my head is a blank and I can't think of one goddamn intellegent thing to say -- which is so, so often in these situations -- is to compliment a person on something they're wearing. Of course, it has to be sincere. The boss' ancient wife does not kiss subordinate ass. But if I like something, I say so, and it's usually good for enough conversation to make me seem adequately social.
First thing I noticed on Sasha was her super-cute headband. Big, grey flower with a rhinestone or something. Just the kind of thing I wish I were bold enough to try.
So I told her, "Cute headband!"
And she launched into something like, "Thanks! I had nearly given up at Macy's when I saw it. I thought it was so cute, I bought three. Christmas presents! I wore it tonight because my wrap doesn't really match my dress, so I'm trying to deflect attention from all that. Look! Cute headband!"
See? How could I not fall in love with that?! Accessory deflection is a way of life for me (said the girl who just finished painting her nails eggplant)! I was smitten. And she bakes! And she eats! And yeah, she's a glittering twenty-something, but she thinks I'm cool!
I know this because I had the following conversation with Husband a few days after the party:
PW: Sasha is so adorable. I totally have a crush on her.
H: Yeah, she likes you, too.
PW: What? How do you know?!
H: 'Cuz she said so.
PW: Oh my God! You didn't tell her that I have a crush on her, did you?!
H: No.
PW: What did you say exactly?
H: I don't know.
PW: Well, what did she say?
H: She thinks you're cool.
PW: WHAT?! WHAT ELSE?!
H: I don't know!
Men so suck at being women.
Sasha and her bi-racial friend Misha were the two people I talked to most during drink and appetizers. So I figured that I'd just sit with them during dinner, right?
Wrong. The Office Food Chain kicked in, and I had to sit with two of the other managers and their wives. I'm a manager's wife! Uck! I have to sit with all the older women and listen to them talk about their kids and the summer homes. Vomit!
Actually, the women I sat next to was pretty cool, and I really like her. I would probably not even mind hanging out with her and her husband, if it comes to that. She's a redhead, and he's quite salt-n-pepper-cute. Kinda bitchy-funny, once she got a couple of pinot grigios in her, and hardly mentioned her kids at all.
But still, I felt like a traitor to my kind. I'm not manager level. I'm staff support level! But I betrayed my peeps to go eat with the enemy. It felt very foreign to me. Executives are those people that you secretly resent and bitch about with your homies -- you don't dine with them.
But the tables divided themselves up by income levels, and I guess, since it was Husband's turf, we defaulted to his level. Makes me wonder -- who would we eat with at a Wenchie's Workplace party...? Enh, it'll never happen.
So, alas, we are star-crossed lovers. But we DO exchange the occasional email about baking. She made a Black-Swan-themed cake for an Oscars party! *swoon* Emo food!
Once every three years, the owner of the company Husband works at takes all the employees and their spouses on some big vacation or something. Crazy, right? I have GOT to get out of the non-profit industry! Anyhoo, if I can survive the plane ride, I'll get to spend a WHOLE WEEK with Sasha!
I told Husband not to expect to see me that week. He didn't even bat an eye. I think he's finally getting used to the idea that he married a thirteen year-old girl. Sleepover!
Comments
I'm'a still gonna cut a bitch.
Posted by: heather at April 1, 2011 04:33 PM
*swoon* I love it when you're possessive!
Posted by: Wenchie at April 3, 2011 04:22 PM