NOTE: Please be advised that I sympathize with Karen about as much as I sympathize with Saddam Hussein. Not the best comparison, I know, but I had to think of someone.
It was sickening to watch. A man pushing fifty, in a drab gray Vance Refrigeration uniform, strode effortlessly through the door leading to the Dunder-Mifflin office suite. Spotting his corpulent, mousy-haired wife, he called out, "There's my little gal!" She squealed and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him as if the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse would arrive if she wasn't as excited as possible. He disengaged, pulled her coat off the back of her swivel chair, and helped her into it like a perfect gentleman would do. And Phyllis Lapin Vance and Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration, headed out arm in arm for their lunch break — which, surely, would be longer than the hour everyone else usually took — ignoring the cry of "Phlob sighting!" emanating from her boss' doorway.
Yes, a feeling of sickness would no doubt sweep over a casual observer. Not so for Karen Filippelli. As she quietly watched the couple from her desk, all she could feel was longing.
This is not to say that she was longing for Phyllis' husband — not even close. No way would she want to be with a man whose haircut resembled that of a disgruntled former Marine, or who constantly referred to himself as "Jim Halpert, Dunder-Mifflin Paper Company." What she did want was the affectionate words, the attention to chivalry, the aura of togetherness that perpetually surrounded Phyllis and Bob.
It was hardly as if it would have been foreign to her. Karen's old boyfriends used to gasp at her feet as soon as they came within 10 metres of her. She had barely had to try with them. But since getting together with Jim, she had been living in Relationship Bizarro World. Suddenly she was the one making the dates, giving the gifts, even starting the kisses. She had always supported a woman's right to take initiative with a man, but did she have to do it all the time? Jim's interest in her was so lacking that she had almost begun to appreciate the way Creed stared at her backside. Then again, he was convinced that her name was Corinne. At least Jim got that part right.
And she had never been Jim's "little gal." Even though that specific term of endearment got on her nerves, something would suffice. She called him baby and sweetie and unmentionable sexual names on a regular basis. He, meanwhile, called her Karen. Or Filippelli, if he was feeling romantic. Right.
It was just as bad in bed. He never made a sound with her, no matter how she moved, spoke, or (un)dressed. In fact, she was almost positive that he tried as hard as possible not to speak. Probably because he'd really be moaning for Pam, she thought nastily. Hell, I bet he'd say her name at our wedding. If he'd ever want one with me.
She sighed. Great, now I'm acting like Kelly, comparing my life to Friends.
Why couldn't Jim be bothered to show his appreciation for her, even once? After all, she had moved to Scranton for him, as she had reminded him, not once, during their nightly talks. Karen then had a sudden, chilling vision of how irritating — albeit useful — that little reminder could become eventually.
"Why didn't you take out the trash? I moved to Scranton for you!"
"Don't even touch those brownies! I moved to Scranton for you!"
"Well, you'll just have to go out and buy the damn tampons at three in the morning! Why? I moved to Scranton for you!"
Her friends had warned her about this. She should have taken the job at Corporate in New York for the sake of her career, they said, not the same menial sales job in Scranton for the sake of a guy she wasn't even dating at the time. Now she was starting to think they'd been right.
But why was her plan backfiring on her? Why was Phyllis trotting about with the love Karen wanted? Of all the women in the office, she had to be the least deserving. She had nothing on Karen — not the beauty, the style, the wit, the attitude, or the unusual ability to identify with men instantly. It was Karen who was the perfect woman, and Phyllis who was . . . just Phyllis. And Karen was not, and had never been, just anyone.
It hit her.
She may not have been just anyone, but she also wasn't Pam. And as long as that remained a truth, she would never be remotely close to Jim's little gal. Despite her obvious perfections, he could never love her the way he still loved Pam, or the way Bob loved Phyllis. To him, she would be Karen. Just.