It must be a slow news day, because the internet is full of places eager to tell me who is threatening my relationship. Unfortunately, the internet does not think that Ed will fall in lust with some sweaty half-naked boys who like it when girls watch them making out – it’s telling me that he’s probably going to end up cheating with either an opposite-sex friend or a co-worker.

Truthfully though, I don’t have anything to worry about. I know all of Ed’s opposite-sex friends, and if he wants to get all kissy-faced with them, sure. Doesn’t bother me, as long as I get a head’s up and creative license to make fun of him.

The internet tells me that Ed’s coworkers are 4 out of 5 on the POTENTIAL THREAT SCALE. I could fly into a panic and insist that he find a job as the Head Rodeo Clown of a steel mill, but I don’t think there’s any reason to panic. It’s not like I don’t really know Ed’s coworkers, or that he constantly talks about one of them in particular, or that he has taken her on solo hikes in the forest, or that he turned off his cell phone so they could be alone in her hotel room without being disturbed, or that he stopped wearing his wedding ring for a few months .. I mean, all that would make me suspicious with worry. Yep. It sure would suck if Ed did all that! Boy, would I be upset!

We’ve been at the new Space Station for just over three weeks now. I really like the location and my most excellent parking spot, and there are enough interesting things around that lunch is no longer an exercise in rage. Still, not everything is perfect – namely, I friggin’ hate the bathrooms in this place.

We’re on the third floor, and the only bathrooms are on the second floor. This is inconvenient enough, but then there’s the smell. The second floor is occupied by a consulting firm; nothing too innocuous about that. However, the smell: it smells like the second floor used to be a doctor’s office; an old school one in which everybody smoked 24/7. It has the horrible stench of old sterility plus an underlying waft of archaic stale cigarette smoke. It is nasty. You can literally taste the stink – it catches on your teeth and smears itself on your taste buds, choking you with a thousand polio vaccinations and cod liver enemas. I avoid going to the bathroom when I’m at work, even though I am absolutely for peeing on the company dime. The smell, though – it’s so bad! There are some smells that just turn my stomach – burnt coffee, for one, and the smell of cheap tennis ball rubber – and now, the entire second floor of this building.

Given the unmanageable stench, the prison grade toilet paper the building custodians leave for us to use is just an insult added to injury. We pay a ridiculous amount of rent for our office space; why can’t we have toilet paper that was not made from tree bark? I’m thinking about bringing my own supply in from home. My life is difficult enough; I do not need hemorrhoids to go with my viral herpe strains.