An Email from My Boss The Monday After The Freaky Friday My Toddler Went To Work in My Body
Dear Gillian,
Now that we’ve had the weekend to decompress, I’d like to circle back to Friday’s — let’s say “unique” — work performance and office conduct.
I consider you a professional, Gillian, and thus was shocked to arrive in the morning and find you wandering the office looking very much like a disoriented meth addict. Six sloppy pigtails, a mess of lipstick and eye shadow you apparently applied with your eyes closed, and a hot-orange XXL T-shirt with a bikini-clad Thanksgiving turkey proclaiming, “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard!” are simply inappropriate for lead counsel at a respected family law firm.
The lack of pants was particularly appalling.
Brenda has a spare set of clothes, but you deemed the color “too barfy” and took off running, leading our geriatric head of HR to chase you to the elevator, tackle you to the floor, and wrestle you with some difficulty into a pencil skirt.
Your shrieks of “The lava, it BURNS!” and “No underwear!” echoed off the walls. The latter statement — much to everyone’s horror — proved to be accurate.
We thought maybe you just needed coffee, but you spray-spit the first mouthful in your receptionist Dan’s face…
