After several hours, I was still freezing my ass off, and my hair was flatter than a communion wafer, so I decided to keep my little knit cap in the on position.
Enter WILDLY INAPPROPRIATE COWORKER, Stage Right.
"What's with the hat? Are you going through chemotherapy? Ha ha!"
"No. Thank God."
"So that's not your CHEMO HAT? Wa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ..."
"No. It's not my chemo hat."
"Oh, because when I didn't see your hair under there, I thought you were going through chemotherapy ... Ha ha ha."
It was like someone was tossing the guy a circus peanut every time he said the word Chemotherapy.
Personally, I love wildly inappropriate coworkers.
Who else is going to tell you your new haircut makes you look like you have cancer?
Who else is going to indiscreetly inquire as to whether the office temp who just had a baby is STILL EXPRESSING HER BREAST MILK?
Who else is going to walk around congratulating all the black people in the office (and only the black people) when an African American becomes president?
These are dark times. Someone's got to keep the laughs coming.