The new girl started. The old girl is gone. The oldest girl remains.
I miss the old girl.
Now instead of rolling my eyes at her or making sarcastic comments in the copy room, I am reduced to dashing off scathing emails about what the new girl is doing with her boss/husband. Or what the new girl isn’t doing. Or the way the new girl sighs loudly when she finishes a phone conversation. It’s like a backwards break-up.
And my venom is all very dull, and misdirected and immature. I know it is but I can’t help myself. I feel compelled to complain out of a sense of loyalty to the old girl who got a lousy deal. Did I say boss/husband? Oh that’s right. The old girl’s boss laid her off and hired his wife. The silver lining in this cloud is that he’s not my boss. But still.
“We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.”
“Can’t all what?” said Pooh, rubbing his nose.
“Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush.”