My boss had a cold and thought it would be funny if he sneezed and coughed at me. He was shuffling around in his designer shoes and perfectly tailored suit, loudly hacking up phlem, coughing, tossing his tissues on my desk, then chuckling at his own sophomoric sense of humor. Now, today, I am miserable. I have sneezed 52 times, and have blown through 28 tissues and it’s only 3:36.
Jeff in a sarcastic, syrupy sweet tone: I appreciate all the hard work you’re doing even though you have a weetle cold. Would it make you feewl bettuh to go home?
Me with childlike innocence and pathetic brown eyes: Yes, it would.
Jeff back to his old self: WELL YOU CAN’T! NOW GET IN HERE! NOW!
What a punk!
I am showing lots of pushed up cleavage to avert wandering eyes away from my crusty, red, nose that always seems to have shiny snot on the verge of dripping. So far, it’s working.