Yup. I'm all about sticking it to Da Man.

I got to go to a Success University Module today. It was scheduled to last until 4, but we blew through the whole workbook by 1. I may be wrong, but I think I get paid for six hours of work anyway. The Module was all about "Continuous Coaching," if you're interested. Rijid called it "Applied Nagging."

I have a story about Rijid, and lacking a better topic for today (At work, I STILL don't know if I'm getting the salaried position. HBL said something today about how I'll be "Productions Manager" when Joel leaves, but I don't know if that means I'll be the 3rd Salaried Poohbah, or if that's just a temporary title till she hires someone real. In other lack-of-news, I have established contact with the fine folks at BwS, and they had not gotten my story, so I can't really talk about that yet either. LOOK LOOK LOOK though! One of the editors signed my guestbook! I'm never washing my guestbook ever again...) I will share it with you.

So, I was doing laundry yesterday. I emptied out Rijid's pockets, and I found a poem, of the romantic variety, in a girl's handwriting.

I tried to remain calm. He wouldn't cheat on me. I know this. Someone wrote him a poem, and he didn't want to just throw it away, so he stuffed it in his pocket and then forgot all about it. Ha ha, yes. That must be it. He is legendarily absent-minded, right? RIGHT??

So, I decided not to wake him up, and went to do the laundry. When I pulled our stuff out of the washer, there was a pair of underwear I didn't recognize.

These things happen, of course. If you don't check the machines carefully, you might miss a sock or a washcloth or something, and then if the next person to use the machine isn't paying attention either, she'll dump her stuff right on top of it. This time, it was a pair of underwear. Extra small. Red and silky. Thong.

If you hired a team of Underwear Scientists, and they spent a week carefully designing a pair of underwear that you don't EVER want to find mixed in with your laundry, this is probably the exact pair they would come up with.

Normally, I would have realized that I hadn't actually checked the machine before putting my stuff in, but this was immediately following the discovery of The Poem of The Romantic Variety, and I immediately thought the absolute worst.

I went back to the apartment, and Rijid was just waking up.

HE: "The strangest thing happened at work last night."
ME: "Oh....really?"
HE: "You know Nicole?"
(My brain: "SLUT TRAMP WHORE BITCH!")
ME: "Yes...."
HE: "She wrote you a poem. I think it's in my jeans pocket."
ME: "She wrote a poem....for me?"
HE: "Yeah. She asked me if you liked poetry, and I said I guessed so, so she pulled out a notebook and wrote you a poem in like 30 seconds."
ME: (Falls onto bed, smothers him with kisses) "Did you tell her I already have THE MOST WONDERFUL BOYFRIEND EVER??"

And, well, you really don't need to hear the rest. He knew I was going to do laundry, and he felt bad for leaving the poem right where I would find it, and I felt bad for thinking such terrible things about him. We were just nauseatingly mushy at each other all night long.
***
(It just occurred to me that the Underwear Scientists may actually work with the Underwear Gnomes from South Park: "Step One, Steal the underwear. Step Two, Hide the underwear in Jen's washing machine. Step Four, PROFIT!")

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