So my work BFF has decided to go on a diet. I’m totally against diets, I hate them, but because I love her, I’m all about helping her stick to it. Work BFF is the reason I want to come to work every day. She makes everything about being there more entertaining, including lunch. She has the most disgustingly perverted sense of humor, amazingly fascinating Tinder dating stories and she makes me laugh to the point of tears on a regular basis. I imagine, should one of us (It won’t be me because I am too lazy to look for another job) decide to move on, our separation would be somewhat similar to Jack’s and Rose’s of Titanic.
Rose: I love you, Jack.
Jack: Don’t you do that, don’t say your good-byes. Not yet, do you understand me?
Jack: Never let go.
Rose: I’ll never let go, Jack. I’ll never let go.
Okay, maybe this is a little dramatic, but whatever. I derailed… This isn’t about my love for my work BFF; it’s about her diet and how it is making me hate my job. For the last few months my job has sucked. Sucked hard. Too much stress, obnoxious co-workers, blah, blah, blah. So to cope with the shit show I call my job, Work BFF and I eat. A lot. We order in, we carry out, we eat out; if it involves food we are on it. But she has opted to bail on me and go on a diet.
Now on to why her diet is ruining my life. Not getting to eat out every day sucks. It sucks for so many reasons, but mostly because it makes me crabby. Food makes me happy…really good food makes me really happy. See where I’m going with this?
Here’s a scenario: Hey, coworker, you keep talking over me every chance you get and I’m going to punch you in the throat. Trust me, I’m a professional and I know what I’m doing.
Normally, I would take a deep breath and think; “It’ll be okay because in an hour I’ll be eating this:
Mmmm…Turkish food.
But instead, I’m eating this:
Yeah, fml. Poor coworker, you just may get punched in the throat because I wasn’t able to get my mood-balancing lunch.
Scenario part two: Hey, lady, who has called me nine times over two days. Your messages are ambiguous and meaningless. I will not call you back unless you call with something that actually pertains to my job. Every time I see that fucking red voicemail light on my phone, I know it’s you and I want to beat the shit out of the phone Office Space style.
But it’s okay, because this will be my lunch:
Sub sandwich I love you with all my heart.
Now after Work BFF’s diet, I’m eating this:
”Now tastes even better!” I can’t even imagine what it tasted like before. Disgusting. FYI…lady, you’ll be getting that call back you requested and it won’t be pleasant, because my day is missing my nitrate-loaded lunch meat sandwich.
Now I know I could just eat out on my own. Order a shit load of food and consume it, but by doing that I will be testing Work BFF’s willpower. So, I carry on, crabby and wearing my bitchface all day because I know she’s working hard at this. I’m proud of her, even if it means I’m miserable. Plus, I’ll go home and drink till my lips go numb to make up for it.
PM2
