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This story belongs to a friend of mine. She’s a bold woman who takes no prisoners.
She scooted her chair around the edge of her cubicle. “Mariah Carey. Mariah Carey. Is that all you listen to…ever? Ummm, are you gay?” The newly-hired guy in the next cube was driving her nutty.
“No. It’s my girlfriend’s favorite. Now I listen to it too.”
“Get earbuds. What did you listen to before you met your girlfriend…Celine Dion?”
“No. Rush, Alien Ant Farm, some jazz, classic rock…Tull.”
“Go back to it.”
“She doesn’t want to hear it.”
“So. You get to listen to other stuff. You aren’t her puppet, are you?”
“She keeps threatening to go back home.”
“Fuck, you don’t get it. She’s a indirect-dom-bitch. Her threats are ways to control you. If she were really going home, she would just go. She is remaking you. And guess what buddy? When she is done emasculating you, after she makes you into her new sensitive girlfriend, she will drop you like the proverbial hot potato. The part of you that attracted her in the first place will be gone. She will need a new project. And, dumb ass, no other woman will want you. You will be milquetoast. Get it?”
“You don’t know her.”
“I am her. I’ve done it to six men. They are ashes of their original selves. Get some new music!”
The next day the guy brought in earbuds. My friend said she could hear a faint waft of Alanis. She thought to herself…ah, man-hater music, serves him right, he’s always watching me and reporting me to the big boss…soon he’ll be just another dickless cubicle guy. POOF!”
