Dear Troublesome Co-Worker,
Does my blank stare really not do it for you?
Honestly, you're not picking up on any bad vibes? None?
Please stop sitting on my desk.
Please stop touching my stuff. Yes, I have a cool iPod. I also have a cool phone.
No, my purses are not new and were not Christmas presents. Why are you paying attention?
Richard, my husband, likes my hair better down, too. I'll remember that. Thanks.
Actually, I'm not all that studious (though well-read, if I do say so myself). When you're eight and a half months pregnant, you tend to carry some extra fluid, and strangely enough, my contacts don't fit right anymore because of it.
Nope, they're not new glasses.
Um, I've only gained 23 pounds.
What do you weigh?
How's. The. Wife?
p.s. I'm fine.
p.p.s. Please pass this on to Dom.
Gentle Reader, lest you be confused, Dom and the Troublesome Co-Worker are NOT the same person. That's right. These guys are my cross to bear. It's been this way my entire life. I've got socially-inept-nice-guy disease. I just can't seem to shake it.
Anyone who catches the reference to Jane Eyre wins a prize.