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I Hate My Job

8 Aug

Four hours.  Four long fucking hours.  That’s how much time I had to spend with Creepy Foot Lover today.  He sucks.  He sucks giant dogs with big hairy balls.  The biggest hairiest balls you can think of.  Having to work with him on every single project is starting to drain on me.  Especially when such work includes daily meetings with him – and when those meetings run up to four hours.

Not even my dreamy secret boyfriend with the green eyes and dimples can save me.  But I’d totally let him try.

The really difficult part is dressing for my job now.  Look, as a chick it’s hard enough getting dressed in the morning.  Picking out an outfit which doesn’t make me look like a fat cow sometimes requires multiple attempts.  Then I have to pick out shoes which don’t give me cankles and make my feet look like Miss Piggy’s.  But on days when I know I’ll be trapped in meetings with Creepy Foot Lover it’s a different ballpark.  On such days I have to make sure I wear close toed shoes (so he doesn’t start fantasizing about sucking on my toes), and I can’t wear anything revealing.  I have a strict cleavage rule on meeting days.

Yeah, that totally failed today.  Yes I managed to remember the closed toed flats, and no there wasn’t a whole lot of cleavage on display today BUT I chose poorly on the dress.  The damn neckline kept slipping to reveal my bra strap.  A black bra strap.  Typically I wouldn’t care who saw it, but when I saw him leering at me it crept me the fuck out.

It’s disturbing to think the troll at work is whacking his junk in my honor.


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