gladiolusinpurple

Yesterday I overheard a conversation in a coffee shop about how everyone has a work husband/work wife. At first, I found that kind of silly. The more I rolled the idea around, the more I came to realize...my work husband is a forty-six-year-old front desk agent named Krit.

We notice each other's appearances.
- When I wear the lavender suit, he always says "Wow, Taki-chan, you look so hoochie mama."
- Every day, I fight the urge to shove him down into a chair and pluck that awful unibrow. The man buys expensive face lotion to have the skin texture of a baby's bottom and shops only designer, but won't keep up his brow game. I deserve a medal for my patience.
We talk about personal issues.
- When my big brother comes to visit, Krit always wants to know how long we snuggled (answer: forever)
- I listened to Krit's delight at the discovery of his pregnant wife's new stretch mark. Apparently it looks like a cute smiley face
We have fun together.
- Back room karaoke: I was the Ken to his barbie, and he was the Kid Rock to my Sheryl Crow
- We're planning an April Fool's Day joke to replace the coffee maker in the break room and put a sign on the new one that says "voice activated"
We read each other's minds.
- When a girl walks by with a perfectly made up face and sweats, we shake our heads. No honey, no. Please let us help
- After dealing with colossal morons, he brings me coffee just the way I like it and tells me my nails look fabulous :')
We have married couple arguments.
- I hate that he leaves pictures of Leo DiCaprio's body with his own face pasted on in my desk drawers when I'm not looking.
- He hates that I reorganize all of his things when he's not looking. I can't help it. Fuckboy, your affects are asymmetric.