A Very Bad Idea

Business and pleasure do not mix.

I wonder who first came up with that expression. Maybe 'Gordon Bennett', the poor chap who spawned years of people shouting his name in shock at an occurrence, probably with lots of exclamation marks. Or the chap who once stood 'by George' and who's surprise at whatever was there triggered equal decades of random squeals of disbelief. Fuck knows. Whoever it was, anyway, they were bloody right.

I've recently suffered at the hand of this fickle beast, the work-based romance.

Suffered, as in the fact you could right now trigger a nuclear holocaust with Russia before leaving a freshly stoked turd on the doorstep of the Kremlin after you've just blown the shit out of St. Petersburg, and relations would be BETTER than they are right now between me and the woman I was involved with at work. Yep, it's that bad. So bad she has erased me from existence. Literally. Eye contact is never made, she talks to everyone but me, blanks me in the corridor when I walk by (even when I volunteer a hello).

She has her reasons. They're perfectly valid and I won't bore you with them here.

I just want to issue a public warning to anyone reading that nine times out of ten becoming more than friends with someone you see more, on average, than your friends or family is A Very Bad Idea. If things go well, I'm sure it's a big ball of joy covered in wonderful ice cream. If things don't, it's a big ball of shit covered in anger, resentment, shattered friendships and... more shit, basically. And because I'm ever so slightly masochistic in my approach to life, I know full well I shall traverse this road some day again with someone as equally suited to me as a cat is to a blender.

Just beware. For on this road lies madness, dysentry and lederhosen.

Or none of the above.