Oliver

Oliver comes into my office today to tell me that he is a) the mailing for the board reception is in the mailroom now (do not like to point out to him that it should have gone out on Friday--but do congratulate self on new method with Oliver--i.e. to change due date back so that things actually get done on time b) he is hungry and is thinking about going to Gray's Papaya (am repulsed and can't think why he'd want to share this with me) and c) Your friend who visited yesterday is fi-ine. With sick feeling (made worse by concurrent image of brain of ends of Gray's Papaya's hot dogs, bright red, slick, and looking like they've been tied off by hand) realize that he is talking about the Contessa. Decide to take opposite tack from yesterday and feign deafness so as not to accidentally encourage behavior. Oliver asks, Is she dating? Look sidelong at phone , willing it to ring. It maddeningly does not. Oliver and I stare at each other. I heard she got dumped by her fiance, he says. Tell him that this is true. He asks, Does she like smart guys? He is talking about himself. Conversation continues in this vein for much too long, as Oliver--as has been proven before--can't pick up on cues which a normal person would know meant that the conversation was not being enjoyed by all parties: curtness, the checking and typing of email, going to the bathroom (he follows me in and talks to me while I pee).