I can not talk at all. Nothing. I have barely audible squeaky noises coming from my mouth. This is absolute hell. I have gone from Demi Moore (lat night) to Marge Simpson (this morning) to a mime (present).
So of course, my loving office mates are taking full advantage of my temporary disability.
So far, they have joked, mimicked, mocked, and giggled.
One even went as far as trying to steal my ginger snaps off my desk thinking I'll just allow that to happen. Guess what? I have rubber bands, paper clips, and an aim that says you won't even make it of my office before you get stung in the butt. And I said all that with just a stare.
I knew watching all those Clint Eastwood movies would pay-off one day.
2 comments:
OK, first of all, your co-workers are doing what they are supposed to do when someone can't speak. It's HIGH-larious, especially if that person is normally mouthy (not that I'm casting any aspersions, mind you).
I think you should post a sign on your desk, maybe with a picture of Clint as "Dirty Harry", with the caption, "Do you feel lucky today, PUNK? Well, do ya?"
Ever see that bumper sticker that says "I'm just imagining the duct tape on your mouth"? That's me!!
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