Touching base, and Turning In

Today was a long day.

My coworkers are on the “Find Karen a MAN” war path, and that gets tedious fast. It’s something that comes up, every once in a while, and almost always with disastrous results. It will die down in a week or two–always does–but the general approach is throw it at the wall, and see what sticks. I’m the only single girl, though, and when the matchmaking bug strikes… **sigh**

What’s the nice way of saying I know you all way too well to let any of you pick a date for me?

It has been determined that what I need is an intellectual. There was a long discussion of this, followed by a general listing of man-traits. These are, by the way, all excellent ideas… on paper. Basically, they spent the afternoon describing me, only ten inches taller, with chest hair. The conversation usually ends right around the point they realize they don’t actually have an intellectual (chest hair, or no.)

Once, it got as far as suggesting a name. We’re both quiet, you see.

No, it didn’t make sense to me, either.

On the bright side, I got a cheese steak pizza. It was hot.

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