The Architect got all up on me at the sink in the breakroom Wednesday while I was trying to wash a casserole dish from the potluck because I'm still everyone's bitch (like I cooked a fuckin' casserole?) and I think he must've had a little somethin to drink at his own potluck, because he's never like that. And while his hands were next to mine in the sink, I noticed that he was not wearing a wedding ring.
It is on, Architect. I wish you'd picked a profession that I didn't have to constantly consult the dictionary before writing down, but nevertheless: Just you wait until *I* get drunk at lunch too. And I do that a lot.