Sweet Irony!

The best boss I ever had took me to lunch on my last full day in America because she couldn't make it to my going away drinking session. I would never have had the opportunity to transfer to the U.S. office if it weren't for her faith in me. She's "gone to bat" for me on issues both professional and personal. I can't say enough nice things about Monica. (Did I mention she's a hottie too? When I said I'd like to work under her again, the double entendre was completely intentional.) She brought four others to Guadalajara's with her: two married men from our old jobs and two single women she works with now. I ate chimichangas.



After lunch, I sent her my e-mail address and this U.R.L. I also kidded her for keeping her good-looking single friends secret from me for so long. One was more my type than anyone I'd met in a looooong time and, as we were eating, my right brain had had flights of fantasy totally inappropriate for Emigration Day -1. To my surprise, Monica responded with "she says you're her type too". Oh, headfuck! Did I mention I was about to leave the country for the foreseeable future, and Norfolk perhaps forever? Because I was.

Flashforward to The Winchester that evening and I'm talking to all my favourite people: my fellow immigrants, my musketeers, my dads-by-default, my music and smoking buddies, the waitress I'd crushed on since forever, friends who wouldn't date me despite my best efforts yet still turned out to see me off... it was a real rogues gallery. I was having a blast already when She Who Will Remain Nameless (Unless She Leaves A Comment) arrived and from that point on no-one else listed above saw very much of me! (Well, Justin got something from me but he closed his eyes like a gentleman should.) And I didn't hear one complaint. (Not counting Justin.) Now that's what I call support!

The world's so small these days and the future's so big that we decided to skip the tearful goodbyes. Why get sad about making great friendships, whether they be 12 months or 12 hours old? The irony of discovering the most compatible romantic possibility in six months was not lost on me but what's a boy to do? Hope I can spend more time with her when I'm sober some day? Sure. Dream a lot? Trust me, I'm on it! Laugh with me now, people, or I might have a tearful moment after all.