Preparing for Retreat

Flurry of activity in office in preparation for Retreat next weekend. New Man pacing around. Vice-boss in office with door closed but buzzing the Conteessa every few minutes with questions that the Contessa answers in monosyllables, red-faced. Am interested to see what sort of questions vice-boss asking. Vice-boss buzzes again, New man answers and asks, vice-boss If There is a Tennis Court. Receives favorable news and shouts great. Sits on corner of Contessa's desk. Punches Contessa on the arm, what do you say we play some tennis? See competitive gleam in Contessa's eye. She says, What kind of player are you. Flirtatious back-and-forth about skill level and experience. Am appalled by flirting and by tennis discussion. Make face slack. Pretend to write very serious email. Don't want to be invited to play tennis. Hate it and am very, very bad. Spend most of time chasing after tennis balls and wishing for end (metaphorical as well as literal). (Question: does Hate make bad, or does badness cause Hate? Could apply same question to many, many other aspects of life, but won't as sure to uncover upsetting results.) New Man offers to buy the Contessa and me coffee. Departs. The Contessa glowing. I ask, What did the vice-boss want? Contessa scowls. She wanted to know if you eat meat. Me? What did you say? I said Yes. What else did she ask? She called back to see if the New Man eats meat. I said yes to that too. Did she call back to see if you ate meat too? No, she called back to see if I was allergic to milk. Ask, Why? Contessa shrugs. Why does she do anything? Am not yet willing to give up on topic of food. What do you think we'll eat when we're there? I don't know, the Contessa says darkly, She's probably planning on boiling a calf in its mother's milk.