I think my scales are trying to psyche me out. Really. I'm not paranoid I promise.
I stepped on them this morning, and instead of squealing at me to get the hell off them, they said congratulations, you magically lost another 4 lbs over night! What? Did some come along and cut off part of a limb when I wasn't looking? That can't possibly be right. So I stepped on them again. And again. They said what? You think we're lying to you? We're hurt - as if we'd do such a thing!
I'm convinced the punchline will come tomorrow when I step on them and they yell SUCKEEEEERRRRR!!!!!!
So, aside from scale-related conspiracy theory paranoia, life ain't too bad. We had a lunch buffet at work yesterday. As usual, I think the catering staff misread the lunch request and thought there was another "0" on the end of the number of attendees - can't think why else they'd send up enough food to feed a small country of starving Africans. And all of it about a million calories a mouthful. Even the fruit skewers came smothered in hot chocolate sauce. Thank you catering staff, for successfully sabotaging my day. Really. It's much appreciated. I'll be sure to send you a Christmas card. Arseholes!
It also worries me that it is senior management's opinion that hard work deserves to rewarded with food. Seriously - we can feed ourselves, guys, you don't pay us that little. Give us something helpful. Money's always good if you're really stuck for ideas!!
After work, I went with my Dad to the theatre to see the fabulously smutty stage version of the equally fabulously smutty tv show 'Allo 'Allo. Until you've seen an gay Nazi lieutenant walk in on an English spy dressed a policeman apparently humping a French cafe owner, who is in turn apparently humping a blow up doll of Hitler, you've not lived, I tells ya! Yes, it's silly, yes, it's deeply un-PC (but who the fuck cares?), and yes, it's funny. Although it feels a little wrong to be sat laughing at things like that next to my Dad. And jokes about flaps and big choppers. But he was laughing harder than I was, so I figure it was ok!
And that was yesterday. I saw my flatmate briefly as I was running out the flat (late as always), and apparently we're talking again. By which I mean we were both super-nice to each other because we can't be bothered with confronting awkwardness. I'm so super-nice I even gave her my last two French Fancies. Does it get any nicer than that. Hmmm - use of food as a peace offering ... probably another habit I should cut!
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