Page 12 of Flirtasaurus
“Of course.”
“I’m psyched Philly seems to be upping its bouge cred lately.”
“Bouge cred?”
“Hell, yeah! Don’t fear the bouge, Calliope.”
“What? I don’t fear the bouge.”
“You totally fear the bouge. You know why?”
“No. Why?”
“Oh, I’m gonna tell you.”
“You always do.”
“So much of the bouge involves treating yourself to sweet and unnecessary indulgences. You resist those sorts of things because you think they’re girly. And you equate being girly with being weak.”
“Thanks for that analysis, doctor.”
“You’re very welcome.”
I sniff my arm.
“Do you imagine we’re going to smell like a frat party for the foreseeable future?”
“I expect so, yes. And to answer your earlier question: ‘Beer baths are known to normalize blood pressure, heighten the immune system, regulate sweat production, improve digestion, hydrate the skin, shine your hair, reduce visible cellulite and generally remove harmful toxins from your body.’”
I’m staring at my friend, who is suddenly speaking like a human Wikipedia page.
“What?” she says. “I had time to study the brochure while I was waiting for you. You’re the only person I know who would find a way to work overtime on day one of orientation.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I was trying to salvage my already besmirched reputation.”
“Besmirched. Good one.”
“Thanks.”
“So? What the hell happened? I’m dying for the deets.”
“Well, I spent the first part of my morning locked all alone in an elevator.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I thought it would be fun, Sasha.”
“Oh. Well, was it?”
“Are you being for real right now?”
“Yes, I am. I’m trying to train you off sarcasm, Calliope. Sarcasm is unattractive and joyless, and you, my dear, are neither one of those things, so I’m not going to indulge you in it anymore.”
“Whatever. I get trapped in an elevator, and some sexy-voiced mystery dude keeps me company from the other side of the door. He calms my panic until the firemen arrive to rescue me—ugh, you know I hate to be rescued—promises to meet me in the Hall of Mammals by the dead deer once I get free, then… promptly ditches me. After that, I finally make it to my orientation, where the very first person I meet on the team treats me like a moronic twelve-year-old cutie pie. So of course I give him an epic piece of my mind, at which point I’m sure he labels me a twenty-two-year-old shrew. I drop some strudel-inspired F-bombs at him and get caught at the height of my rant by my new boss who is, you know, basically the only person on earth I care about impressing, after which I’m pretty sure she now sees me as a terrible team player and an even worse person. So needless to say, I stuck around at the end of the day and asked what grunt work I could do to atone for my sins. I ended up stuffing and sealing gala invitations like an entry-level punk.”
“A sexy-voiced mystery dude, huh?”
“That’s your takeaway from all that?”
