I got an e-mail today from a girl at work asking me for a date. I'm not sure what disturbs me more - the fact that she e-mailed me when we work in the same office, or the fact that I'm obviously a fig man.
Let's get real here - if you are going to have the sheer, bloody-minded temerity to ask another human being to rip the Fruit of the Date Palm from Mother Nature's tender embrace, you should at least have the common fucking decency to hire a calypso band and get Abe Vigoda to M.C. the event. What a thoughtless bitch.
I don't like dates too much, anyway. They've become so commercialized, and they come with certain expectations. I feel like I'm "supposed" to be enjoying them. I much prefer Fig or Apple Newtons.
I wonder if this is the attitude that got me here in the first place. Perhaps my violent advocacy on behalf of certain fruits, nuts, and vegetables goes part and parcel with my distaste for the Scott Paper Company and all like minded organizations.
In the spirit of my fast dwindling days with clean trousers, I gave her a prune.