An open letter to the eight guys that sit in the cubes surrounding mine (I think I’m in the anti-double X chromosome section of the building):
Dear Ben, Jared, Tacker, David, Dave, Mike, Justin and John,
I realize that one of you is apparently romancing up your Tuesday by tarting it up with a couple of gallons of cologne, but I really think you’ve overdone it today. You know that sound, like a squirrel having a high-pitched epileptic fit? That’s me. Sneezing. All morning. The reason for which is the liquid gold soaking into the billions of pores in your skin. I know you think that this is sexy, but I think you would have been better served by simply taking a dang shower.