All office romances begin with a manual saw.
You know the story. You notice her from a distance. She smiles, you smile back. At first there is no attraction; simply curiosity. Soon, however, you can't wait for her to pass by your cubicle. Even though you have no windows, you feel like the sun has kissed you every time she says hello. She's so radiant that she makes the office supplies that surround her look sexy. Yes, there is that sexy stapler in her hand. That hot little paper clip she so gently attaches to a few steamy pages of some erotically-charged report.
Soon, everything you look at reminds you of her. Even that stupid windows screen-saver dancing in front of you now gently tangos across your screen as if it were a pair of lovers lost in their own embrace.
Suddenly the dancers disappear. Your stupid co-worker has moved your mouse after flicking your ear. That bastard - he'll get his. But what is this in front of you? Microsoft Outlook. Then it hits you. It's so obvious. It's been in front of you the whole time.
You start sending cute little emails to each other. Harmless really. Even if someone read them, it would be hard to see the subtext. They're little inside jokes, none longer than a sentence or two. They're little love tweets.
You find yourself ignoring your work, waiting for the next little incoming email sound which sets your heart aflutter into some kind of an anticipatory ecstasy. Is it her sending you a smiley face? Or maybe it'll be that smiley face with the tongue out?
No, it's Bill wanting some stupid report. And then Cynthia chimes in, wondering if you can work this Saturday. Then there's Jerry with some stupid joke about monkeys throwing feces at each other. When will this interminable wait end? You know you can't go on like this.
You've had it. You're going to do it. You go up and ask her to lunch. She smiles and says yes. You go to lunch. She orders a salad. You order a salad. You eat your salads. You're happy because she's more into you than her salad (and it is a damn good salad).
It may be the 21st century, but you still insist on paying. She lets you pay. Over the next few weeks your work relationship grows. It deepens. It transforms. You're not quite just co-workers anymore. You've no idea how this happened. But here she is, at your house and you're having wine and eating some Italian food you've learned how to cook in college. It's always impressed the girls. It's the "I want to impress you, girl" Italian food. She reads the signs loudly and clearly. The wine is relaxing you both. Soon, you're kissing. Soon, your clothes are coming off. Soon...
...you're in an office romance. Jesus Christ. How the hell did this happen? How did you let yourself get involved with a co-worker? Did she seduce you or did you seduce her? Was it the paper clip? What do you do now? You can't break it off, because everyone will find out. But can you keep going? Everyone eventually will find out too. And you really like this girl. Oh Jesus Christ.
This is bad, you think. This couldn't be worse. But then there she is. It's awkward now. You say hi, she nods. There are other people around. Are they staring? You can't be sure. You move on quickly so as not to linger suspiciously. But what if you're sending the girl the wrong signals? You are. You decide to talk to her. You wait a few hours, sweating it out. Finally, you stumble into her right by that unattended office. There is no one around. You start chatting with her, talking about the night before. She leaps at you and you start making out. Now you're in the unattended office. She lands on the desk. You land on her. And you start going at it like the guns of the Navarone in the heat of battle. Suddenly you hear something behind you - the door opens. You've been caught.
What happens next? I bet you can't wait to find out.
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