Open Letter

Dear Office Mate,

You are killing me. I am actually dying inside sitting 8 feet away from you. If you look me in the eyes, you can see it happening.

Please stop immediately being the way you are so I can go back to just feeling sorry for you instead of figuring out ways to kill you and/or get you fired (you know, which ever would come first in the scenario). I wouldn’t do any of the things I fantasize about, because, you know, I’m trying to be Christ-like and all. But, you are driving me insane. (In fact, I could probably use insanity as my excuse in order to skip jail time).

I dread every day because I know you will be there crunching away, snapping your gum, saying the stupidest things (like “shapes can be hard”), raising your kids to be delinquents, and leaving your oozy food mess in the microwave.

And no, I don’t want to hear about your weekend, your dopey sister, your cat (regardless of what you bought him to wear), your crazy Ex whom you still give money to because he’s hot, your opinions on Britney Spears, or how you have a problem with your halter top.

I am only human. I have a breaking point.

And I have reached it today.

Angrily yours,

Liz