While work is usually exceptionally boring on Fridays, there is going to be a little excitement this afternoon. We are having this office “Fitness Challenge,” where we are all putting money into a pool and whoever loses the most weight will win it. This involves, of course, all of us getting weighed. Not just weighed, actually: they are going to measure our “girth” in various areas and pinch us with those calipers and shit. You know, getting pinched with calipers doesn’t sound exactly like how I would care to spend my Friday afternoon. Anything involving calipers, in fact, sounds downright unpleasant, don’t you agree? But then I am already on a diet (aka healthy eating plan, ha) anyway, though, plus I will basically do anything if it means I might win money or other fabulous prizes.
(Update on the healthy eating plan, by the way: in December, I bought a pair of jeans online — foolish, foolish me! but they were on sale! — and, although I could, you know, put them on, when I zipped them up they rearranged my internal organs in such a way that my ovaries were popping out of my ears. Well, today they fit. )
Back to the subject of fabulous prizes! Seriously, one of my favorite fantasies is the fantasy of winning oodles and oodles of money: no credit card debt! no student loans! a car that is big enough that I can sit up straight without bashing my head on the ceiling! It’s not as if I even lust after extravagant things — no, just a debt-free, concussion-free life; that is all. Anyway, towards nurturing these fantasies, I have a tendency to register for the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes and the like — at least until I get tired of endlessly re-confirming my entry registration, as they make you do approximately every five minutes, seemingly for the purpose of flashing more ads for mail-order junk past your face. My recent obsession has been winning the HGTV Dream House (details of this fantasy include: escaping to remote, snowy, mountain location where I will write, drink wine, and receive visitors), despite the fact that I am not at all keen on the decor this year. It’s always so damned rustic, and I myself am a strict modernist. This means, of course, that once the Dream House is mine, I will have to make some cosmetic changes. In thinking about this fact, I have started a list of things you will never see in my house:
- dried flowers
- fake flowers
- fake fruit
- knotty pine
- rough hewn wood
- rustic pottery
I solemnly swear never to have a house with these things in it! I mean, really, who has fake flowers? Do you? Do you have fake flowers? I bet they are in some wicker basket somewhere all tied up with a plaid ribbon, aren’t they? ADMIT IT. You know what this sort of thing requires, don’t you? Vigilance. Constant Vigilance.