Gayle was over at my desk chatting about non-work-related things, can you even imagine, when our department help line rang. None of us particularly like answering that line because helping people is annoying, so Gayle kind of claimed that duty because she’ll talk to anyone.

The telephone is still a novelty to her. I don’t know.

“Gayle, you better grab that,” I directed, with just a hint of a scoff because that’s how I like to speak Gayle.

As she dutifully scurried off to her desk, I said to Glenn, “Aren’t I great at delegating?”

No answer.

“You might even say I’m management material.” It was a race to the end of the sentence, and my laughter definitely won the medal.

“Please,” Glenn muttered. “You can’t even manage yourself.”

And then Glenn and Amber² were talking about Henry being a serial killer, which I think somehow came up because I was bragging about selling a Ted Bundy birthday card (I like to keep my co-workers abreast of my comings and goings in the underbelly of the greeting card scene).

“You know, the only time I have ever seen Henry seething mad was when he was dealing with his ex,” I TMI’d to my group.

“Compared to her, I’m a dream!”

“Let’s not get carried away. Just say you’re ‘not as bad,'” Glenn interjected.

In other work news, we need a good name for Amber² because she hates being called that on here. Help. (I already promised her that it won’t be “Mom Amber” because, ew.)