For numerous reasons, I make it a practice never to socialize with co-workers outside of the walls of our 40-hour a week prison (care to enlighten the readers with a sterling example of why, Trout?). If I’ve learned anything over the years it’s that those little forays never lead to anything except Monday morning gossip and yours truly doing the Big Shoe Dance and wanting to take off all his clothes. So it shocked the socks off Carly when I agreed to go bowling last Saturday night.

What the hell, I figured — Tristan was out of town for his niece’s birthday and I didn’t feel like staying cooped up in the apartment the whole weekend. What was the worst that could possibly happen?

Well, I’m not sure if it qualifies as “the worst” but it was definitely uncomfortable when bookish middle aged receptionist Heather showed up with her husband who nearly had a stroke when he saw me.

Or should I saw saw me again.