Not the Butler
How easily one person can dampen a bright mood! Lucinda enters the breakroom, says: “Whoa, Linda, at the cheesecake this weekend, were we?”
She hoists her huge lunch into the fridge, knocks over other lunches, before turning toward Jenny, “I thought you would have had your hair done. Split ends and roots showing? Tut-tut. Can’t keep the hubby that way.”
When she eyes me, her lips thin. She wants to insult me but knows I won’t quietly be impaled.
Was I surprised when five o’clock rolled around and Lucinda was rolled out by the coroner? Only by their punctuality.