Dear Young Chickie that Works under my Supervision and has no Idea that a Woman who just turned 50 is a little on edge and this one in particular owns a GUN:
Next time you decide to attempt to lavish me with compliments; dig a little deeper. Use your imagination for pity sake.
Your loving and gracious office manager.
Now get the hell out of my office before I ………. I ………well, I oughtta …..
(Fifty + 4 days)
Allow me to paint the picture for you:
Yesterday before leaving the office, I got out my paint palate, a brush and some hairspray and headed for the ladies room. I explained that I was meeting Daughter #1 at the mall and that you never know who you might run into at the mall. “I don’t want anyone to think I’ve let myself go.”
Young Oblivious Coworker says, “It’s not like you’re Fif……..ty.” She tried to stop in time but it was too late. It was already out there.
The left eyebrow was raised in her direction. The sneer became impossible to conceal. The hair was standing up at the back of my neck. There was some gnashing of teeth.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Deep breathes. Deep breathes.
I finally stopped hyperventilating and continued on to the ladies room. That's when I heard:
"If it makes you feel any better, I still think you look 49."
NO! IT DOESN'T!
There's a good reason I leave my gun at home locked in a safe.