The agonies of my Tract continue, and so tomorrow I have to endure a battery of tests. I have to fast until morning, at which point I will show up to the office, sample proudly in hand, and be forcefed some kind of dairy concoction until my liver bursts. Oh wait, thats foie gras. No, I will then be bled for two hours. I wonder when they are going to bring out the leeches?
This procedure is utterly pointless, as there is NO WAY I am lactose intolerant. Me and cheese go way back. We like the same things! For a time I was trying to learn how to say “I like cheese” in as many languages as possible, merely to generate variety in the expressions of love that I whisper to Cheese. This actually came in handy when I got caught stealing cheese from the dining hall where I was pizza girl. When asked by the manager what I was doing carrying cheese with me into the coatroom, I simply repeated “I like cheese…” to his every query until his jowls quivered and his face turned red. He eventually gave up. Wouldn’t you?
After all the starving and bleeding, I get to stagger all starved and bled to WORK, where a colossal mountain of someone else’s failure awaits me in great papery dunes.
But it ain’t all bad news, folks- I got a call from the Sisterhood today. If all goes well, I shall soon be mentoring a 7-15 year old girl. I just hope they won’t be requiring any samples.
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