Non-romantic “marriages” in the workplace are the newest craze in office romance, the New York Post said, citing a survey by Vault Inc., a career research and consulting company.
Having a support system could lead to better performance reviews and advancement, the survey said.
The firm’s national survey of workplace romance said workplace “spousing” has surged in the last year, in part because it offers immediate intimacy without the sex or commitment.
Had to hit the G–L- search to find out what the froog they are talking about.
Amy was dating a guy with a wine cellar and a roaming eye. I had a ﬁancée and a wedding date. No man was good enough for Amy, including me. But in our own casual, platonic way, we became a couple: I didn’t have to love, honor, or obey—I merely vowed to hang out with her at ﬁre drills. We ate lunch together, mocked coworkers together, and shared the few genuine feelings that didn’t get soaked with cynicism and sink to the bottom of our souls forever. She kept me from sending hotheaded e-mails I might later regret. “Step away from the keyboard!” she would tell me. I kept her entertained. For ten, twelve, fourteen hours a day, Amy was my work wife. I was her day husband.
Of course, a work wife, like any wife, must ﬁrst be courted. Amy was no different. I wrapped up pretty, shiny nuggets of information—about a woman in Accounting, for instance, who greeted me in Klingon (“Nook-neckh!”)—and handed them over. She gave as good as she got, especially when she revealed that the hottest woman in the office had gone into the ladies’ room, removed her bra, and asked coworkers as they sauntered in if one breast felt warmer than the other. Amy also made it her job to outwit the affably clueless man we all worked for. When the boss presented me with the traditional Tiffany decanter during a perfunctory prewedding company toast in the conference room, I unwrapped it, made the appropriate sounds, and tried to insert the stopper in the top. It was too big. “Let’s hope the wedding night isn’t like this,” he yodeled. As his loyal underlings tittered, Amy refused to let him have the last laugh. “Gosh,” she countered, “let’s hope it is.”
a platonic friend…thats what they used to call this. Why do we have to invent new and slightly more retarded ways to say that?
This sounds like a recipie for problems