I went to a happy hour on Friday for a work friend who got a much better job in Minneapolis. While I find it dubious that anyone moves to Minnesota for any reason that is not the DUI-mandated coaching of a pee-wee hockey team, apparently he gets to move in with his girlfriend and, because they both work for the same company now, they get a ridiculously generous gift card and I still have to go to my old office every day like some kind of jerk.

Also at the happy hour was another work friend who used to be in my department, as well as some girls who work with them. During the course of the evening, one of these girls mentioned that her ambition was to be a trophy wife, and the other girl agreed.

“That’s all well and good,” I said. “But if you’re going to be a kept woman, you’re going to have to cook, clean, and do anal.”

This was apparently new information to these women, both of whom denied the anal part and insisted that they would be trophy wives without ever taking it up the ass. It’s nice that they think they have values, but if you’re going to expect a wealthy man to stay married and faithful to you, you’re going to have to make some concessions in your regular sexual repertoire.

One of the women said that she’d just find a husband who didn’t like anal. I told her that this was the stupidest part of her plan, because no husband doesn’t like anal. None. Those husbands don’t exist. They may say they don’t like anal in the beginning to get you to lower your guard, but give them a chance and sooner or later they’ll ask for it. As Adrian Colesberry noted in How To Make Love To Adrian Colesberry, the second a man stops wanting to fuck you in the ass is the second he’s stopped being attracted to you. And when you think about it, anal is actually a lot more reasonable than some of the other fucked up stuff a man can request. I’ve been reading Savage Love since I was 16, trust me, I know what that stuff is.

Speaking of fucked up stuff, has anyone else been watching American Horror Story? I’m only up to episode 5 (I missed the first few on FX so have been catching up with On Demand), but daaaaaaang. The Gimp Suit guy is apparently called Rubber Man in the script, and the part is played by some actor from St. Louis. I ran track meets at Rubber Man’s high school! What the what!

I am most definitely not anyone’s trophy wife, but that didn’t stop me from dropping some serious (to me) money this weekend. Yesterday I went to Penzeys for the green cardamom pods I needed to make tonight’s pre-Walking Dead butter chicken and somehow managed to walk out without spending more than $20.

Then I went to Vom Fass, which is five doors down from Penzey’s and sells infused oils, vinegars, cognac, and other liqueurs. I wanted the pumpkin seed oil I’d had at a friend’s house (ohmygod om nom nom) plus some other stuff I don’t really need plus a Christmas gift for my dad. The friends who’d been there had warned me that it was a little confusing; the walls are lined with jars connected to spouts and there are tasting spoons, but apparently you’re supposed to wait for a staff member to do it for you. No staff member was around to help me and there were no signs telling me this, so of course I was eventually reprimanded by someone in front of a group of people.

Turning to her with a teensy spoonful of vinegar in my hand, I said, “So do you want it back?”

Look, I understand your policy, but perhaps there should be a sign (I can read!), or perhaps your fellow employees could stop standing the fuck around and tell me they’ll be with me in a second. I managed to find/terrify some skinny guy into helping me. He profusely thanked me for my patience, but I just wanted to tell him to relax. I don’t mind waiting, what I mind is being publicly reprimanded for someone else’s short-sightedness.

Today I get to travel to at least 2 big box retailers and one mall to exchange one item and buy a pair of boots and some shirts that a) keep me warm and b) don’t stop at someplace around my belly button. I hope to accomplish this without resorting to the Women’s Big and Tall store. I don’t know if that really exists, but then I haven’t been to a mall in nearly a year so I really wouldn’t know.