Dear Douche/She-Douche in Office 3281,

Please return from your month+ long vacation and do something about the goddamned box of tagalongs that's been sitting on your desk for the entirety of your absence. It's laying there with an adorably pleasant hand written post-it attached that unfortunately fails to cover the appetizing imagery.

Seriously, where have you even BEEN? Do they have girl scout cookies there? It's been well over a month since the cart pushing lil' ladies made their taunting rounds (don't give me that look little girl! You're a GIRL SCOUT. You're socially awkward, your breasts aren't even budding yet, and your new cookie selling badge cannot possibly prepare you for the beating your virtue is about to take upon entering middle school). I missed the order forms in the kitchen...I get it. I could handle the mass Thin Mint consumption and singing of Samoas praise all around me; the fault was mine and I was rightfully penalized. (giggle).

But come on. Don't you believe the punishment should fit the crime? I don't even know you. I don't know what ill feelings could possibly warrant this kind of retribution. I would never leave in plain sight a full box of peanut butter and chocolate coated crispy vanilla cookies for others to gawk at. Not even to the guy wearing shorts on the bus who refuses to hold on to the handrails and wobbles everywhere whilst reading Robert Jordan novels. Not even to John Voight.

There are a few painless ways you could have avoided being a raging asshole. For one, don't order delicious cookies if you know you're going to disappear off the face of the earth for 6 weeks and fail to eat them all immediately in one sitting. Are you on maternity/paternity leave? Put your little shithead in the car seat of your Audi A4 wagon, stop by the office for TWO MINUTES, and take care of business. Just eat them. Or, if you would prefer, you could at least hide them behind your EXCESSIVELY LARGE bottle of multivitamins. Why is your fluorescent overhead on AND the door open?! God I hate you, 3281.

I'm giving you one more week...then I'm breaking the cookie code. Tagalong that, bitch.

- Sarah


tagalongs