Kiki’s not hungry anymore

Published December 18, 2012 by Johanna

A few phone calls and my mood has been shut. It’s my birthday dammit! Can’t anyone respect that? Of course not. Since my promotion, I’m supposed to be responsible and have no life, blah blah blah, bite me! Gosh, at this rate, I will never grow old.

Not that I care to gain a few years of wisdom under my belt. Too many bad news have arrived simultaneously. I explain.

After John left my office, my mom called me. What did I want for Christmas? Wow, I honestly have no idea. Christmas shopping isn’t my area of expertise. I guess I repressed too many bad memories from my former in-laws trying to bribe me with fake lace thongs, camo toilet seats and zebra snuggies, so I got a bit tired of the whole gifts under the tree business. I don’t want anything. I make enough money to go shopping before stores become halls of madness. That’s the luxury I can afford since I got a job.

Mom insisted I ask for something. Fine. Be creative mom, buy me a Hello Kitty toaster. Why? I can butter Hello Kitty’s face every morning, Mom! Nonsense. Can’t even be funny. What about a Hello Kitty microwave? Or an alarm-clock? No, I’m too old for Hello Kitty. Seriously. If we lived in Tokyo, that drastic narrow mindedness wouldn’t hold very long.

A bottle of booze. Get me scotch. Mom sounds concerned. I drink too much. In ten years my liver is going to die on me, and I’ll be good for nothing. All I needed today was a little talk, why any other day of the year isn’t good enough when you can have the talk on your birthday? I wonder.

I sigh. Mom ignores my sigh. I sigh again. Mom doesn’t care. She insists on getting me a panini maker. Silence. She thinks I just hung up. No, no, I’m still here. I bet she saw the panini maker on sale at Macy’s and decided it would be the most economical gift this year. I don’t eat paninis. Once I see the machine, I might change my mind. No way. A panini maker won’t make me happy.

Fine. I think she’s going to settle for the bottle of Black Label. Crossing fingers and toes on this one. I forget the rest of the conversation, distracted by the latest gossip news. It is quite a shame to be so rich and so stupid.

Moving on. Got work to do. Love you mom, catch you later.

Next phone call. My boss. Ugh. Have to put up the fake smile and pretend I’m the employee of the month. A new project is coming up. Gotta cover for the holidays. Glorious. Well it’s not like I had plans anyways… Being single in this town is a real curse. Don’t wanna start hanging out on Plenty of Fish either, I’m not that desperate, but very close. Should I even bother buying a tree this year? My cats won’t appreciate it. I will probably look at it and hug the bottle of scotch at the same time. Pathetic row, I’m next in line.

Okay I’ll work. Boss is happy. Does it mean I get a nicer bonus? He hung up before I could get an answer. Classic dick move. Alright, I understand I’m a slave to my job, but I don’t mind a tad more dough. This will be the topic for my next meeting I guess. Suck it up until it burns deep down but you can’t throw up in your boss’s office because he’s your boss, you know?

Third phone call. Mom again. I let this one go to voice mail.

Taking a deep breath, I glance at the clock. 12:45 pm. Fifteen minutes and I’m out of this hell. Should I remind John about our impending lunch plans?

I dial his extension and wait for the ringtone. No one picks up. That is simply frustrating. I should walk by his cubicle just to check he hasn’t fallen asleep by the coffee machine. With this guy, better be safe than sorry.

My stride takes me on a slight detour. I say hello to more people than expected, and obviously, after saying hello, I must continue with a few nice words otherwise everyone will think I’m rude. Not on my birthday. I’m extremely well mannered today.

Two minutes become twenty. I’m rushing to John’s spot faster than a rocket – should I mention in heels – and almost crash into the water fountain because I didn’t assess the sharpness of my turn correctly. When I finally gather my senses, he’s not there. Crap.

Playing lighthouse, I survey the entire room. John’s tall enough he could have started a career in basketball had he not loved smoking weed so much. The guy certainly has priorities. I don’t see him. He’s probably in the bathroom. I should wait here instead of pacing like a chicken without a head. Not good for my blood pressure.

Five minutes pass. Still nothing. Where is this kid?

Had I known, I would have taken my phone with me. How many times do I need to remind myself of this? Staple the gismo to the hand, and I’m good to roll.

Okay. This is taking way too long. He better have a good explanation. It’s already one thirty pm, and I’m starving.

I leave a note on his computer screen. Tired of idly standing.

Back to my desk, I realize the message light is blinking on my phone.

“Honey, I’ve been thinking, I saw this wonderful fondue pot, you can invite all your friends and have parties at your place, love you, call me…”

My finger lingers on the delete button. Gosh, what else is she going to come up with? A cornballer?

Next message.

“Hey, it’s John. I had to run – you would never believe this, my girlfriend just freaked she might be pregnant, I’m not even kidding. Anyway, dashing to buy a pregnancy test, because I’m also freaking out. Can we celebrate your birthday another time? Peace.”

Imagine my expression. I’m livid. I quit smoking but badly need a cigarette right now.

WTF John! I’m going to kill him.

To be continued…


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