This afternoon, he ambled over to my cubicle to ask me what I was reading. I struggled desperately to find a sophisticated way to explain that it was a US magazine chronicling Jessica Simpson's journey into hefferdom, but could not find the adequate words to do so. In all honesty, I was only looking for whatever words wouldn't make me sound like Juliette Lewis in The Other Sister or Juliette Lewis in anything, really. I did not succeed even remotely.
He got around to casually asking me how old I was, so I take this to be a declaration of his love. What else? For this reason, I must find a legitimate excuse to go into his cubicle tomorrow. I have not come up with anything thus far, but I do have an outfit for the occasion.