If it’s healthy, it isn’t a treat!!


The start of my day was pretty shitastic. I woke up and thought it was Friday. Woot! Nope, fuck me, it’s Thursday. Crabby and pissed off, I arrived at work and opened my email. A bunch of pointless shit, but then I saw a message with the subject “Treats in the lounge” and my day was suddenly looking brighter.

Now I love food. Food makes me happy, especially really good food. Any type of chocolate, cupcakes, donuts, coffee cake, candy, basically any dessert type food. Well, honestly, it’s just food in general. But on a day like today, I was really hoping for the shitty kind of food. The kind with white sugar and white flour; all processed and fake, just all around the worst shit you can eat.

I hauled ass down to the lounge while visions of gourmet cupcakes, Portillo’s chocolate cake (Don’t ask why I focused on this. I kinda already knew this wouldn’t be waiting for me, but a girl can dream), cream cheese Danish, maybe even pink frosted donuts from Dunkin Dounts. The list was pretty extensive and the more I thought about it, the more excited I got. I was almost skipping by the time I reached the lounge door.

I whipped the door open and there sitting on the table was…wait for it… FUCKING FRUIT!!!! FRUIT!!! What sick ass motherfucker calls fruit a treat???? And to make matters worse it wasn’t even the good kind of fruit, like the kind that’s already cut up and ready to eat. It was fucking whole apples, pears, oranges, the kind of shit that takes work to eat.

Luckily I was alone in the lounge because I legit yelled out, “What the fuck?” and I even thought about chucking an apple against the wall. I had to take my anger out on someone. This was a cruel, sick joke and I wasn’t laughing.

A note to my co-workers: There was almost a murder at work today. (Granted it was only an apple, but do you really want that on your conscience?) The next time someone sends a message saying “Treats in the lounge” for all your sakes, you better fucking hope that you legit mean it. My self-control is at its minimum and one more fake treat announcement will surely do me in.

On a side note: A shout out to my boss who left a box of PopTarts on my desk yesterday. That was the only thing that saved my co-workers from getting an email from me telling them all to suck a bag of dicks.