I know that Michelle has an irrational fear of houses that look like faces; she knows that I have a phobia of peanut butter getting stuck at the back of my throat even when I’m just looking at a jar of it. We learned that it’s very difficult to say “Epsom salts” when you have a cold, and that the word “moist” gives us both the same icky feeling as pulling a dark curly hair out of your mouth. We agree that there is no other use for Pinocchio’s lying nose that is not sexual, and that Orpheus was a big jerk for turning around to look at Eurydice on their way out of hell.
Though I may still be temporary here at the firm, these exchanges have given my days sustenance, much more appealing food for thought than the bagel trays that are served each Friday, gobbled instantly by the analysts who have been stuck in the office overnight staring at investment graphs until the bars move by themselves.