Put "mean to children" on my resume!

I was at lunch today...yes, "lunch" where you leave the office and sit down in a restaurant and eat and talk and everything! Just the fact that I left my desk to eat differentiates today from any day in the last three weeks or so. And it wasn't just any lunch, mind you - it was Mongolian Barbecue. Oh, yeah. It would have been nearly orgasmic if not for the fact that there were no fucking crawdaddies! Well, to be totally accurate, there were no non-fucking crawdaddies, either. They were crawdaddy-less. Crawdaddy deprived. They gave me no tail.

Would the lack of tail excuse the conversation I then had with Arjay's wife?

See, my newfound fascination with Play-Doh sculpture coincides with her desire to be rid of a case - yes, a case - of Play-Doh given to her small children by their evil uncle. They are in a new house, and since I'm sure it's her fondest desire to avoid Play-Doh-infused carpeting, she wants me to take possession of the forbidden modeling compound. She's kept it hidden from the kids pretty well, and she needs to sneak it out of the house without their seeing, since they are children, and they will want the Play-Doh. At their age, the fun factory is just that easy.

She told me at lunch of her plan to bring it to me today, smuggled out of the house in shopping bags. It seemed reasonable to her that she would be able to take the dreaded rainbow-colored menace out of her house, and be a patron of the arts by then handing it over to me. That is, until last night when she heard a delighted shriek from the basement: "Oh, cool! Play-Doh!" Her oldest had discovered the contraband.

And for a second, I found myself truly disappointed. Sure, I could afford to go out and buy enough Play-Doh to build a life-size replica of Michaelangelo's David, only with a huge schlong this time. But I wanted that Play-Doh. And I would've let my friend steal it from her children for me.

Oh my god. I'm a bully.

I think we need an intervention here. And some fucking crawdaddies.