Dear Candy Man,
You're killing me.
You bring that little jug of assorted candy into every big meeting we have. Meetings where nerves are on edge and the pressure is high. Meetings at which we have to sit for hours on end, listening to each other babble through the same song and dance we've listened to 100 times before, with nothing to do but nibble.
You bring it because you're nice. But let's be honest ... you're like my dealer. Those little Heath bars are like crack cocaine to a former big girl. And one little piece doesn't seem like such a big deal. Not a big deal, that is, until the 7th time I take one as the jug passes by.
And as for that enormous, automatic dispenser of goodies like Mike & Ikes or Skittles on your desk ... just plain overkill.
But I'm so glad it's there. And I wish I wasn't.
Your faithful servant,
Miss Daisy
2 comments:
Where is my iPod - do you have it Daisy?
No iPod here, smarty pants.
Post a Comment