Foresight

Arrive in office, hang coat on hook behind door, turn on lights. Discover large hideous stack of papers on desk. Poke head out door to ask Libby where the papers came from. She says, They are invoices. You need to sign them. Tell her that when had former job as secretary that always signed Vice-Boss's invoices. Libby sniffs, says, You are not the Vice-Boss, and I am not you. She says this last clause with a shudder. Indeed we are not the same and am perfectly willing to dislike Libby, but find it very painful to think that she does not like me. Go into office feeling tearful. Call the Contessa, who answers and then says in dreamy voice, Remind me who this is? I don't know where my brain is today. Tell her that she needs to snap out of it, I am having an Emergency with Libby and that she needs to come intervene. She says, Oh it's you. I'll be up. She arrives, looking sleek and as though she hasn't eaten in days because of near constant sex (this diagnosis later confirmed.) She says in languid voice, Libby, Fritz has Carpal Tunnel syndrome, didn't you know? Libby, maddeningly, takes back pile and smiles at the Contessa. Feel that she even performs a small curtsey. (Privately, feel that I will have to pay later.) The Contessa says, You'll excuse us? Then shuts the door to my office. Says, See, you just have to ask nicely. She folds herself into chair. Am treated to detailed recitation of what she and the vice-boss have been up to, sexually, which feel that ought not to be interested in but am. Feel that it is my responsibility to ask if It is Going Anywhere, so do. The Contessa frowns, says, It is definately going somewhere...don't all things? Think this displays a worrisome lack of self protection. Keep thought to self.