International Cheese

Very trying day at work. All of a sudden the event schedule is due, the rooms need to be confirmed, and catering needs to be ordered for the first events of the fall. Peruse catering menu. Get to the section with hot foodsL: pigs in a blanket (usually burned at edges), mini quiche (traditionally frozen in the center) and chicken Satay sticks with peanut sauce (acceptable but not anything to look forward to.) Hot foods too expensive for our purposes, so turn to cheese and crudite page. Must choose between revolting Domestic cheese or (slightly less disgusting but much more expensive) International cheeses. Mind provides image and taste memory of the cubed Domestic cheeses, waxy, sweaty, and one unfortunate time when tried a bite of the cheddar, extremely musty. Thought of cheese fills me with extreme existential dread. Think about Time. The Contessa says, What is wrong? Say, I'm upset that am still here and that the school year is starting up again. We promise each other that by this time next year we will no longer be secretaries. We will not be ordering the cheese we will be eating it. (Existential dread grabs hold of soul again, forcing to admit that there is no difference between one thing and the other. Unless things, are much, much worse, like being Homeless. Think about other worse things. Very long list.) To try and pull self out of morbid thought, ask the Contessa about the Wedding. She says that the bride's husband is balding, pudgy and has fat fingers. She also made very rude comments about the Contessa's Life Style, insinuating that the Contessa ought to settle down. Which, really had nothing to do with how the Contessa behaved at the wedding. The Contessa did not trip on her cape, kiss anybody else at the wedding, or grab the husband's ass (Not that she would, ew, but just to make the point). She didn't even get drunk because the wedding was dry. Am disappointed in her and say so. She says, well what did you do this weeked. Say, Dave and I rented Movies. The Contessa says, Very exciting. Remember to tell contessa about Stash found in the vice-boss's office. The Contessa says, Hmm. Ask, What does Hmm mean? She says, Do you think she stole all the beauty products at her house in Amaganesett? Picture the Vice-Boss methodically stealing each thing (there were hundreds of bottles on that bathroom sink) For the first time, feel something like awe for the Vice-boss. Ask the Contessa if she wants to look behind the bookcase to see what is hidden there. She becomes very upset with me, says, of Course she does. Why didn't I say something before. We let ourselves into the office. My arms aren't skinny enough to get the object and the Contessa's are too short. We find a clothes hanger and after much sweaty and dusty work, we retrieve a bundle, which when shaken out (more dust) turns out to be my sweatshirt. In many, many other instances would be thrilled to discover lost clothes, but am not happy to see this particular sweatshirt which is a bilious sea green color with a too wide neck. Am thoroughly disappointed in day.