I hate my coworkers.
I don’t mean that in a negative way. They are all very nice and I like being around them. They all seem like good people and, if the opportunity came up, I would not consider seriously injuring myself to avoid spending time with them outside of work.
This being said, they are a bad influence.
For the better part of a year, I have been trying to become a healthy person. If you had seen me a year ago, I was roughly the size of Winnebago. I have heard more than once that being the size of any sort of automobile is considered unhealthy, so I began to eat healthy and exercise.
I’ve done very well. I have lost 30 pounds (or 13.607771099999999 kilograms for those friends in every other place but America). In the process of doing this, I have weaned myself off of baked goods. Bread, cakes, pie, all out the window. Sure, on special occasion, I will partake in a slice of cake, but that’s reserved for birthdays, weddings, or any other occasion where I can justify it (which is surprisingly difficult to do).
I woke up this morning and had a nice nutritious breakfast involving fruit. Delicious, wonderful, slightly boring fruit. I packed a healthy taco salad (made with ground turkey instead of wonderful beef) for lunch and headed off to work.
I arrived just in time for a meeting. I’m continually amazed how important boss-type people manage to hide until they want to have a meeting. Then, they crawl out of their luxury sedans, do the meeting, and are gone as suddenly as they arrived. It’s a modern marvel that even scientists can’t explain, most likely because they can’t find their bosses to get their study of this phenomenon approved.
As I walked into the meeting, a man in a suit stood there. He greeted with a friendly hello before saying something much more sinister:
“Would you like a muffin?”
There are three things I really like in this world. I enjoy baseball. I’m a big fan of comedies. I love blueberry muffins, and there sat a box of the little demons, their moisture apparent even from 10 feet away.
I thought about running away, just turning and sprinting full speed out of the situation. Then I remembered this is my job and if I do that, they might be less willing to give me money. And I like the money part about work. That’s the main reason I have a job.
I politely declined and had a seat in the only chair left in the meeting space.
The one adjacent to the muffins.
We made small talk for a few minutes, before the man turned to me again.
“Are you sure you don’t want a muffin. There are plenty,” said the drug pusher in the suit.
I began a staring contest with the evil creatures. I knew the likelihood of me winning was low since they are baked goods, and baked goods do not have a tendency to blink.
I’d like to say I stood my ground. I’d like to say I sat there, unwavering and strong. I’d like to say a lot of things. Unfortunately, if I said those things, this would become a work of fiction.
But do I regret my decision? Yeah, a little. It was delicious though.
Fortunately, now that I have put the muffin out of its misery, I can go back to my life without having to face this dilemma again.
“Nathan, do you want my muffin? I really don’t like blueberry.”
- Hungry Workday Muffins (huffygirl.wordpress.com)
- “TWD: Mini Citrus Cranberry Sunshine Muffins” and related posts (traceysculinaryadventures.blogspot.com)
- Banana Muffins (mrsduckandtheducklings.wordpress.com)
- Breakfast Muffins: The Classic and the Unusual (blogher.com)