Can't escape the cook

The cook (also known as that fucker who went radio silent) is like a bad rash that keeps coming back. Not that I’ve ever truly had one of those rashes, but the analogy works. Last week I was having lunch with a colleague who was moving on to another role. We were at my favourite restaurant by my office, which seats maybe 30 people.  In he walks.  I look up and think – NO FUCKING WAY.  He looks at me and his mouth twists and he gives me this nod of acknowledgement.  At which point I want to yell “really? you are going to acknowledge me now? don’t fucking bother”.  But I think that this might mean I shouldn’t go back to the restaurant again.  I have no idea what I did with my face.  Hopefully mastered a look of disdain and uncaring.  There was a part of me that went “wow he’s not as good-looking as I remembered”.

Now the story would be much more dramatic if he was seated next to us.  But he was several tables down with a woman who I’m resisting making any comments about (she wasn’t pretty).  I did make note that she paid the bill.

At least he hasn’t shown up on the newest dating site I’m on.  But I’m pretty sure it’s just a matter of time and they’ll say (again) he’s some 90% match.  Sheesh.

I feel like I shouldn’t give you the links about the cook because I shouldn’t waste your time either.  But if you care to learn, you can read about him here:

[Part Four]

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  1. Pingback: Again with the Cook. Really? Are you Fu*king kidding me? | ann st vincent

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