Or what i will miss most, when I leave my current job.
“What’s this?” asked the Boyfriend, pulling out from behind my bed what turned out to be the latest of Martha Stewart Living Special Entertainment Issue featuring Fourth of July star spangled cake, and further tips on summer outdoor entertaining, fancy recipes, arts and crafts and gardening.
“I have to tell you, most people hide porn and Playboy behind their bed, you hide Martha Stewart?”
“Ummm. Oops. Patricia gave it to me when I was complaining to her about how bored I’ve become with food lately. She thought this might cheer me up a bit. Like I'd be caught dead reading this thing, when I have Playboy sitting out there in the open on my nightstand? Or do you actually see me as a homemaker, or outdoor entertainer?”
“Your cooking is pretty decent, but your outdoor entertaining would be something like ‘Come over and share the stoop with me on my back porch,’ if even that… ”
“…'And I’d be happy to let you leaf through one of the older Playboy issues that I scored at work.' Like there's something more entertaining than that. What am I going to do without them when I leave work?”
As ridiculous as it sounds, I do bring Playboys home with me from work. And sadly, this is what I will miss most about this establishment, this, and the wonderful people in the office, with who I share my love for such vain and shallow magazine.
1 comment:
Oh, Nika. Yet again, you make me smile.
One of the relative trifles that I sometimes miss after my divorce several years ago? The collection of vintage Playboys that I had to leave behind. (Note: I didn't accumulate the collection from work, admittedly. That fact about your story bears some explanation . . . tho' perhaps not explanation fit for your blog, I guess.)
And, okay, I'll 'fess up on another point too: I have recently begun reading a handful of "domestic" rags like (and including) those published by Martha Stewart. For similar, though probably not identical, reasons. I blame becoming interested in cupcake culture a while back. Cupcakes were my gateway drug to domesticity.
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