The Inappropriate Office Chick

I'm talking with one of my friends at work, visiting with her in her cubicle, and then in she comes.

The Drama Queen.

Every day, she has a new helping of woe to heap on the unsuspecting. She'll have an anecdote about her criminally-inclined ex-boyfriend to relate, or maybe something horrible and expensive that happened to her car over the weekend. But her favourite are immature gross-out stories, designed to shock or offend her audience. In her mind, talking about pus, ingrown hairs, fatness, mucus...anything that's exuded by her body is a way of expressing her unique and vibrant nature. This woman, she has two kids, and it's like she wears some kind of "run away from me" pheremone with her layers of whorish makeup. Anytime I see her coming, I pretend I forgot something in my office, and spin on my heel to go in the other direction. I don't care how obvious I look, life is just too damn short.

I'm trapped though, now, in my friend's office when she barges in. It's nothing to her to interrupt a conversation.

"Do you see a lump on my lip?" she asks my friend. She's poking her tongue around behind her lip, like a dog trying to get at a lump of peanut butter stuck to its soft palette. Lap, lap, lap.

"No, I don't," sighs my friend. Their offices are side-by-side, so interactions like these happen every day.

"I'm wondering if I'm growing a tumour or something. You think that's possible?" she says. Her belly pooches over her too-tight pants.

"I guess anything's possible, I mean, sure...there's mouth cancer," my friend says. She's looking at her through half-lidded eyes.

"Maybe that's it...I'm getting mouth cancer."

I'm suddenly inspired. "I bet it's herpes," I say.

One thing about people who think they're quirky and cool - for some reason, it's always okay to unleash the zingers on them. Beats me why.