Today your cubicle mate is going to lean in close to you and jokingly wave his hand in front of his nose.
“Pew!” he’ll say. “Smells like tears over here.”
“Sorry Larry,” you’ll say to him. You’ll start crying again.
Larry will put his hand on your shoulder. Then your upper back. He’ll rub his palm on your upper back, like your mother used to.
“Is it because you confessed your love to me on Friday, and I said that it could never work out between us, but then I kissed you anyway and we went to your place and had sex all night Friday and all day Saturday, then on Sunday I said that I still don’t think it will work out between us, but I hope we can still share a cubicle. Then on Sunday night I called you and said to come over to my place, which took you ninety minutes and two trains. Then after we had sex I told you it still won’t work out between us and I’d like you to go, and so you had to go back out into the cold in the middle of the night and wait an hour for the first of your two trains to arrive, only so that you could go home and call me over and over again, leaving me voicemails that I deleted without listening.”
“You didn’t listen to my voicemails?” you’ll ask.
“Pssh, hell no,” Larry will say.
You’ll decide right then and there that Larry’s not worth your tears. You’ll stop crying, get up from your desk, march into your boss’s office and quit. The job market being what it is you won’t work again until 2013.
Happy You Stink Of Tears Day!
