Go and lay on the couch and feel sorry for yourself, dammit!

On Tuesday I had a minor vent about our ninja office manager and how trying to keep the workplace running in her absence was virtually impossible.

Can I take that back? Floundering around, appearing like an idiot to clients, and spending an hour tracking down one single work order is INFINITELY preferable to listening to her wheeze and cough and attempt to convince people she isn't contagious.

Seriously - my biggest office pet peeve EVER. If you're sick - keep your disease-ridden carcass at home where it belongs, thankyouveryfuckingmuch. I don't need to quail at the sound of a ringing phone, wondering whether you answered it last and how big of a loogie you hawked up onto the receiver.

Also? If I bring home last month's pig-flu-du-jour because YOU "need to work", I'll be pissed.

I mean, at least make it something with some retro cool appeal, like the bubonic plague, or ergotism.

Or leprosy. Now there's a sexy disease.

I feel all headachey and tickly in my throat now. And my fingers feel perilously close to falling off.

Damn office ninjas.