its not that she’s obnoxious

Furla, I’ll call her Furla. I use to work with her. Imagine Sideshow Bob and Kyle’s Mom rolled into one big ball of fun.

She breathed on me yesterday. I thought my hair was going to fall out.

She never closes her legs. Ughh. Sits with ’em wide open all day – in her shabby skirt and shabbier shoes. I know its weird but I cant help but stare. Im like Good grief Woman close your legs! Its awful.

“My IQ is 172.” She says in her Im-probably-not-a-man- but-you’ll-never-really-know voice. She took some Brains of Britain quiz on TV. “I was very impressed with myself.”

I bet she was.

She never combs her hair because there’s really no point. It extends in all directions like horrible red brillo. You know, those iron scrubby things you clean your pans with. Yep. Brillo.

It’s not that she’s obnoxious. I mean she is, but she’s more than that. She knows more than you do. About everything. And she’s rude. And she doesn’t let you speak. Unless you’re asking about her little pony. (My little pony, skinny and bony. Sing with me.)

She took a few weeks off last month. Someone asked her if it was because of Ramadan. She cried for an hour. She’s Jewish.

I felt sorry for her. Really did. But I couldn’t bring myself to hug her…all that cat hair…and her wide open legs…

She left a copy of the Da Vinci Code in her desk when they moved her into the pigeon loft. I brought it home and read it.

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