All I wanted was a peaceful lunch.

It didn’t seem like so much to ask for. A little yogurt, my daily Propel, and some reading material. Perfect.

I cracked open my book, eager to get back to the goings-on at the Constance Billard School for Girls on New York City’s fabulous Upper East Side. Would Serena van der Woodsen emerge the victor in the battle for Nate Archibald’s heart, or would Blair Waldorf sacrifice her virginity to hold on to the boy she thought she loved?

Sadly, I never had a chance to find out.

Janet was dining in, rather than eating out for a change.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmm!” Janet moaned a little too loudly, eyes closed and lips closed seductively (at least I think that was what she was going for) around her fork. Parting her lips ever so slightly, she pulled the fork out and savored the party going on in her mouth.

When no one acknowledged her, she took a different tack. “This meatloaf my roommate made is to die for!”

While everyone else continued ignoring her, the ever pleasant Hannah fell right into her trap.

“What does she put in it?” the bible thumper asked, looking quite serious in her query into the origins of this exotic food stuff known as ‘meet low-uff.’

“She uses ground up turkey and Lipton’s onion soup mix.”

“That does sound good. I’ll have to try that,” Hannah replied. “Do you know if she uses one package or two?”

“Two, I think. Lani is such a great cook. She makes this one dessert — chocolate fudge brownie cake — and the best part is, it’s sugar free!” Janet began rubbing her stomach to mime the deliciousness of the cake, but with her right hand on her her stomach and the left a little more north, it more closely resembled some sort of drunken act of self pleasure.

I looked across the room at Carly, one of my most absolute favorite people at work. She raised one eyebrow as she speared some of her salad.

“Guess you love you some chocolate cake, huh, Janet?” Carly asked, fighting back a smile as she gave me a sidelong glance.

“Oh, my little granddaughter loves it, too. She comes over and says, ‘Gwam-ma, can we have some choco-wutt fudge bwownie cake with ice cweam?’ Hahahahahahahahahahaha!!” Janet threw back her head, guffawing at the memory of this precious tale.

“Janet, do you have to talk like that?” Melina asked, her eyes never leaving the issue of US WEEKLY she was flipping through. “That baby talk shit gets on everyone’s nerves.”

Janet’s brow furrowed for a moment, then she plowed forward with her story.

“Lani puts sugar free chocolate pudding in the cake…it comes out so moist. She makes a lot of sugar free stuff — I’m diabetic and she’s watching her figure you know. A while back she made pit-statch-io pudding for the guys and they wen–”

“It’s pistachio. Not pit-STATCH-io,” Melina stated matter of factly, her eyes trained on a picture of Suri Cruise.

I looked at Carly, who did the slow blink. Melina…correcting someone on the proper pronunciation of a word? I think Hell officially froze over and the devil donned ice skates at that moment.

Janet gave Melina a cautious once over, then continued. “Anyway, she made that pudding for the guys one night and they went nuts. And I kept laughing because they don’t eat nothing that is low calorie or good for them, you know? And I should know…I mean I grew up with them. Her brothers are my cousins.”

***Record scratch***

Carly and I locked eyes, grins spreading across our faces. I could see the wheels turning in Carly’s head as she formulated a response to this.

But this was Melina’s day.

“Jesus Christ!” she cried, turning to look at the now visibly frightened Janet. “Your girlfriend’s brothers are your cousins?“

I think Hannah may have suffered a mild stroke at that moment — either that, or she started talking in tongues mid-prayer.

“M-my roommate’s brothers are my cousins…” Janet had just seen the true face of fear and it was wearing red, white, and blue bugle bead and safety pin earrings and high heel flip flops.

“Just shut the fuck up. Nobody wants to hear any more baby talk or fucking cake stories, okay?” Melina looked at me and I swear I saw real intelligence in her eyes for a fleeting moment. She turned back to Janet. “And don’t give me that ‘roommate’ shit, Janet! She’s your girlfriend. And you’re related.”

***Crickets chirping***

Melina went back to her magazine, Janet quietly finished her meal, and Hannah prayed to her God as well Buddah and a couple of Norse deities in an effort to stave off any memories of her lunchtime foray into lesbian incest and Lipton Onion Soup One-Minute Miracle Meals.

Me? I took my book and went back to work. GOSSIP GIRL could never hope to top this.