Today I got called out by a sassy little Japanese woman (who I happen to work with on a daily basis). Don't let size fool you--the shorter, the sassier--unless you're talking about me. My sassy pants come with a 36-inch inseam.
I meandered over to the food cube with my heart set on a tub of guac. Beating me to the punch was the aforementioned Mistress of Sass. I took a little jab by taunting her selection of Cheddar Bunnies, then immediately, like it was the fate of Gawd Awmighty, I keeled over with knife-like pangs in my belly. "Uuuuggghhhhrhrrrrsrelifjslkfjsd," I whined. "I have little gas bubbles floating all around in here," I said as I pointed to my mids.
She wheeled around and looked up at me, saying in her sassiest of sassafrass tones, "You always have a gas problem!"
BOOM. Even my office-mates know now. Hey, some people have charm. Other people have gas.
Well-played, Sassafrass.
No comments:
Post a Comment