Just before I sashayed into the office last week I stood at the door of the lift, knowing neither caffeine nor codeine had done the trick, and told myself to suck it up.
It’s sometimes hard being me.
Whenever I bounce into the office I become the focus of everyone’s attention, so there was no reason, on a recent Monday, to expect anything less.
From reception to the depths of the office I was about to be bombarded with attention and demands to know what (and who) I had indulged in (and with) for my weekend.
So I did suck it up (but kept my sunglasses on) and set about brightening the lives of those with little to be excited about.
Not one person even turned their head.
Not until I drifted into the peripheral vision of the mob oohing and aahing around one of my second-tier professional associates. Who was holding her left hand high above said mob (probably trying to get some light to catch the incredibly small diamond in her new engagement ring).
Here we go again, I shuddered.
A lesser light who for 15 minutes, give or take, would have her moment of celebrity in the office.
You can see why I don’t have a single serious first-tier friend at work when you have to mix with such an odd assortment.
But I did my best to feign interest before feigning a phone call and scuttling through the office to the refuge of my desk and my headphones to zone out the mawkish moments at the opposite end of the room.
I just don’t get it.
The particular young rose who had just been plucked from among the wallflowers was sitting there talking about a wedding — to be held sometime next year.
Next year!
This was going to be a nightmare.
The lesser mortals, who hold the majority in my office (and, I am going to suggest, yours as well) would be milking this for all it was worth.
For months, almost for a year, we would be hearing about every little milestone — and then have to patiently await the arrival of the invitations.
It was enough to make me give up the ghost and go home.
I just cannot see myself at another hen’s party, at assorted showers and then there will be the engagement party — that, too, has been deferred to sometime in the future — and then the wedding.
If the young man in question is one I vaguely recall being introduced to I genuinely hope the happy couple will be relying on more than the rhythm method.
First things first.
I would have to start sowing the seeds of confusion; dropping hints I would not be able to readjust my hectic schedule — which is so believable because I am in such demand.
Especially as a bridesmaid, to add that certain je ne sais quoi to a wedding party, to counterbalance the other bridesmaids in the wedding photos.
But just as urgent on my list of things to do and messages to be blocked would be my mother. As always.
Every time she hears of someone else of my vintage surrendering their independence and identity she perks up and starts working on me yet again.
You’ll have to excuse me for a month or two; this type of crisis requires me to remain calm, to focus and to start detailed, long-term defensive planning.
I’ll keep you posted.
