Exuent, Laughing Evilly

Today during an email exchange with my dear friend Jessie Mo, it turned out we have a work colleague in common - ex for me, not so ex for her, regrettably.

I am sitting here at my desk, waiting impatiently for her to call me so we can exchange some juicy goss.

In the meantime, to amuse me and probably do nothing whatsoevs for you, here are my favourite bits of JM's emails to date:

(1) When I asked her if her profoundly irritating colleague could be X, she wrote back:

holy friggin moly, do you know X?
god, this is a revelation. but now i bitch to you endlessly.

(2) When I warned her of his vile breath; the memory of which will haunt me to the end of days, she seemed oblivious:

i've noticed the killer lack of personality but not the killer breath.

(3) Then, before I dashed out of the office, I sent her an email about a particularly annoying vice of his, and she could, like, totally relate:

i'm just wow overwhelmed, it's like hitting upon a vein of gold.

This all reminds me of the long and bitter years during which I worked with the repugnant Pony Boy. Jessie Mo was amongst my little group of friends to whom I would whinge incessantly about this hideous man's vices. The worst part was, everyone I knew, including Grumpy, knew Pony Boy socially and while they thought him a little odd, he also seemed to them to be charming and witty. Not the man, surely, to be guilty of the many crimes of which I accused him. To cut a long story short: everyone was rolling their eyes and thinking what a drama queen I was and no doubt blowing everything out of proportion. [Because it may be that I have been known to do that on occasion.] I tell you, brothers and sisters, my body may have been protected from the elements behind four walls and a ceiling, but my spirit withered out on a dry and dusty plain where a chill wind ceaselessly blew and, you know, the occasional tumbleweed drifted past.

Call me Lee Van Cleef.

But then my friend Bookbinder - who will surely not deny that she was quite the defender of Pony Boy - had to spend a few days on a training course with him. They had email access on this course and Bookbinder bombarded me with messages filled with outraged wonder: did I realise what a moron Pony Boy was??? Everything he did drove her wild; sadly, not with desire. I think I was supposed to be sympathetic or something, but all I could do was sit back and revel in the retribution and justice.

Here that rustling sound up in the rafters, baby? That's all your pigeons coming home to roost.