Dead Fish in a Box

The chronicles of a suburban fishpimp trying to keep it rural.

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Location: United States

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Winter Coat

As the Fishhouse’s Captain Outrage used to say as he bit into an apple fritter “winter is coming. Store Fat!” I figured that I’d lose weight after retiring from the fish wars. How could I not? We were always eating! Here, try this new battered halibut. Try this new coconut prawn. Try this New York steak, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. My wife told me there would be more food at the new place. Her rationale? There were actually women who worked there. I thought she was crazy.

She was right.

I shouldn’t be surprised, she always is. But seriously, the amount of food these women bring at the new place borders on ridiculous; we’ve had 3 holiday parties so far! Who needs three holiday parties? There is candy, cookies, and cake around every corner! I’ve gained freakin’ ten pounds in the month I’ve worked there! People keep dropping sweets on my desk, and then get upset when I politely refuse. I tell you what, when I can’t even button the collar on my shirts anymore it’s become a hostile work environment. I’d call Human Resources, but she’s already mad that I didn’t have one of her chocolate-covered peanut butter balls.

I’ve got no hope.


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