Hey! So, does anyone remember me? I finally have Internet access at home after months of hell. I probably could have updated my diary at work had I not had to listen to my coworker's pet pig stories.

One of my coworkers has a pet pig named Sally. There isn't a morning, as I'm trying desperately to recover brain cells with cup after cup of free coffee, that she doesn't come into my office with, "You won't believe what Sally did." I'm made to "ooh" and "ahh" over pictures of Sally displaying her excitement over upcoming holidays...Sally and her Halloween basket, Sally posing with Santa, Sally in her Easter bonnet, etc.

Apparently, Sally is now considered fat by my coworker's new "pig expert" friends. How can you tell if a pig is too fat? I've never heard anyone say, "Wow, that girl's as thin as a pig." Sally has been put on a diet and it depresses me to know that the pressure to be thin extends beyond the human realm.

My coworkers regals me with stories of how Sally gets into the garbage and strews it about the house and bites until she draws blood. She punctuates every tales with, "But she soooo cute!" Now, if I were to tell you a story of one of my pets biting me hard enough to draw blood and leave a scar, my adjective use would not include the word "cute." Dead; yes. Cute; not so much. My coworker thinks Sally is acting out because she's lonely. I think she's acting like any female faced with a diet.

To solve the problem, my coworker has decided Sally needs some companionship. Enter a little male piglet which has already been saddled with the unfortunate name of Roscoe. Once he is able to leave his mother, my coworker seems to think that he and Sally will live in love and have no time for misbehaviour. I seem to think it's going to result in nothing more than the pig version of the WWF.

And, with her girth, all my money's on Sally.