The Saga: Survival Report 3

Well, Cupids,

Things have taken a disturbing turn. We’ve… nested.  I know.

I wish I was kidding. The general workspace has transformed into OUR space. Mr. NCOhMyGod’s coffee mugs in one corner. My color-coded notepads in another. It’s like we’re building a little love nest, minus the love part. Just the nest part. With office supplies. Breakfast. Coffee and a routine. ALREADY.

And oh God. Staff Sergeant Seduction? Has stolen my organization system. WITHOUT ASKING. It’s unsettling to watch someone snake your borderline obsessive filing methods. I mean, it’s helpful, sure. But also weird. I don’t think I like it. 

He now sits next to me instead of across from me. And before you say anything: yes, I did move to the opposite side of the table. But he just brings his chair around and we’re back to square one. It’s like a game of musical chairs. 

I brought in a small plant. Like I’m planning to stay. As if this isn’t a temporary arrangement. This is how that convo went:

“Wanna name it?” Captain Plant Daddy McHotStuff

“It’s a plant, not a pet,” Me.

“Everything deserves a name, sweetheart. Even plants.” Captain Daddy. 

I then did the unthinkable: Just… touched his things. Rearranged them. Made the space better. I’m OCD like that. And when he came back? HE THANKED ME. Like this was normal. Like we’re normal co-workers who just… help each other. 

It was as if he had a experienced a spurt of professional growth. I almost forgot who we are. Almost.

Because immediately following, he asked me if the “Girlfriend Package comes with a laundry module,” which led to me explaining that domestic services are strictly part of the “Wife Package”—an upgrade he is “DEFINITELY NOT QUALIFIED FOR.”

And jabbed him in the chest. Yes, I touched Captain Chesticles. Intentionally. Multiple times. Had to make the point. Honest? I was trying to match his energy, make a joke. And it backfired. In the biggest way possible. 

Let’s just say that this man is ready for anything I can throw at him. Like he’s made a COA for every possible scenario. Without going into detail, I had to pry my hand out of his to prevent a definite HR violation. By me. Forced, but would be hard to prove otherwise.

Also may have screamed his name. Which prompted him to declare victoriously that he told me he’d have me screaming. A throwback to the great Coffee Date Catastrophe of several weeks ago. Admittedly, clever. I hate him. So fucking much. 

I wish I could say I maintained my dignity. I did not. There was laughter. Some of it might have been mine.

There may have been an incident where we finished each other’s sentence–at the same time. Turns out, we share a guilty pleasure interest in alternative history. 

WHY am I not more disturbed by all this? I should be.

Please diagnose me in the comments. My therapist is on vacation. Just kidding. I don’t have a therapist. Just my best friend who’s rooting for us to go a few rounds in the sheets. As if. My cookies are not free. 

Even if my breakfast sandwiches are. Apparently. 

~ Stockholm Syndrome Anyone?

P.S. While I like seeing the humor in my… predicament, I’d be remiss in not making it very clear that in no world will me and Mr. NCOhMyGod end up together. Am I attracted to him? Of course. I’m not dead. The man’s hot as fuck. And he’s in front of me every single day. Yes, he’s funny and I like his humor. Charisma. The very short moments of him being a genuine person. But, I also have not been in a relationship in over a year, will admit to liking the attention sometimes. 

The bigger BUT: he’s still a guy who only sees what he can get from a woman and not what he can give. He’s fun, sure. I bet he’s great in bed, too. Or maybe I wanna believe that. Probably dreamed that once or thrice. My best friend, like I said, thinks there’s no shame having a little adult fun. Maybe not, but when that’s all someone wants from you, it’s like they’re saying you’re not a person. Just a toy to play with and toss out when they’re done. 

How much would I not have to respect myself to repeat this same pattern? Because I’m the definition of doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result. Same guy, different face. Old me from two years ago? Would’ve given in the first day. New me? I still want to, but don’t want to feel like shit when he’s done having his fun. Get it? 

I’m a mom. Would not want my kid to see mom being used and discarded like a broken toy. 

Also, guys who look like Mr. NCOhMyGod? They don’t date girls like me. And as he made clear from day one–he’s not a relationship guy. Which means he’s a fuckboy. And I’m too old and busy for one of those. 

Here’s to the next few weeks of updates. Thanks for reading and sharing. It makes my entire life to have you guys along for the ride. 

#OfficeSpouseAlert #PlantCoParent #ConspiracyCrisis #DomesticServicesUnavailable #UnqualifiedButTrying #NestingWithTheEnemy #StockholmSyndromeSupport