In reference to my last post on interoffice scoping, it turns out she’s not in her late 20’s. Alas, I’m an idiot. Whilst out drinking last night with friends, the story I told you below came up in our conversation. I mentioned something about her age and got more than one guffaw from the group. “No way man, she’s 35 to 40, easy.” “35 plus or minus 2 years.”

So the only natural thing to do was to lay down bets on how old she really is. Fifty-dollar bets. In my inebriated state, I somehow found the balls to volunteer to ask her personally (as if we’re close enough for me to do that. We’re not). The balls I found last night predictably vanished when I got to work today and I did not ask her. I’d like to think that it’s not so much that I lost the balls, but that I gained my senses back.

So it appears all bets are off since no one is willing to ask her. But there’s a Plan B. I’d be happy to tell you about it but it’s top secret. Details to come.