you, of the swagger and smile

Dear Office Crush,

Sometimes I think you notice me, sometimes I’m not sure. I mean, it doesn’t really matter–you are twenty years older than me and married. Older and married, and so bitter about your job that you wouldn’t notice a good thing if it fell right into your office.

But of course I notice you. It would be hard for anyone not to, you are  senior management and therefore accord interest. Not to mention that you are near-universally disliked for your habit of speaking bluntly and inappropriately—a quality that I find distasteful as well, but am somewhat amazed by. You get away with so much shit only God himself could put you in your place.

Of course I notice you, because you are powerful and look good in a suit, because you are middle-aged and suave and wear your butchness so naturally. You’re fond of mens’ dress socks, you whistle in the hallway,  you wear french-cuffed shirts under your formal suits.  You love the Red Sox–I’m sure you played softball in college. You brush the back of your neck with one hand when you’re waiting for something, a slow deliberate act from many years of practice.

No, I don’t think you notice me. Not like that, at least…which is for the best, since this crush is so inappropriate it barely deserves mention. And, like I mentioned, you are an asshole—though a charming one.

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