In the beginning

Ah, the corporate card. I love that little silver sliver of plastic. It fits so snugly into my hand and on the wings of angels, gracefully flies out of my fingertips when I approach any slitted machine with a magnetic eye. And the cash register blinks, "Let there be purchases", and there was purchasing. And I saw the products, that they were good, and divided the perishable from the non-perishable. And I called the perishable edible, and the non-perishable storeable, and the plastic and paper were the first bags that day.

Really though, when I use the card, it's not that prolific, and I only use it sparingly. *wink* Today tho, the Directator offered the plastic bank so that I may buy New Girl and myself lunch. I wonder if he's Greek... However, I threw the book down and rejected the piece of plastic since lunch today is going to be comped by B-Boo's Chef.

Even tho I've never met this mysterious man of the burning stove, Chef loves me because I love delicious food. I love sumptuous food so much, that one day during brunch, I picked a slice of ham up off my plate, closed my eyes, and used it to caress my cheeks as I whispered sweet nothings to my fried potatoes while inhaling the nearby sweet baguettetty aroma. Totally kidding. What actually happened was I had a lemon pastry that I stabbed at. Escaping my clutches, it flew across the table only to land in the nape of M's elbow. I immediately pulled on her hand to pop her buttery joint toward the ceiling and choreographed an Oscar-worthy chewing of the tart in mid flight.

But really, If I were to have to choose between giving up good food or sex, hands down I'd give up sex. After all, you can have good food in public (even in groups in public) without getting into legal trouble.

So, without the Directator's corporate card, New Girl and myself pile into one of the fifteen cars people trust me with while they're flying around the country. We arrive a du Jour and order drinks, soup, bread, an entree, and dessert. New Girl had never experienced a four course lunch; I had never heard New Girl give murmurs of pleasure over what she ate. In other words, she subsists off of Styrofoam Mexican peppers, deep fried cardboard chicken nuggets, waxed covered Chinese MSG, and plastic encased cubes of sugar encrusted hamburgers. Not the tastiest of food choices.

The soup comes. "Mmmmm. Oh, mmmmm. Wow," New Girl lets out a gasp of excitement. I ask,"Is it good?" "Yes. Oh my god. I mean, you said it was going to be good, but I didn't think it would be this good." I smile as she continues, "I don't even like asparagus, but I'd pay $18 just for that bowl of asparagus soup!" She pats her mouth dry of saliva.

"Well, I'm glad that you enjoy it. Interesting sounds you're making there, by the way." She looks up, soup drops on her uniform, which she says, "Oh, see here? I love it so much, I'm already taking some home with me." I hand her a slab of ham to wipe off her cheeks after she finishes sponging the soup off her shirt. She continues to let out little puffs of sheer joy in the form of high pitched squeaks as the meal goes on. It's begun - I've ruined New Girl for life on all other food.