(Revenge) is sweeter far than flowing honey – Homer

The Proof is in the Butter—Part Two

Now, it’s quite evident to me that in the “real world,” you have to play dirty if you want to keep your head above the water. It’s really a necessity … unless you would rather be trampled on like an insect. It’s very important to me that people KNOW not to mess with me. I’ve never been that weak person, but at the same time, I’ve always known when to play it safe, i.e., be sneaky.

The fact that Butterball thought she had gotten off without a snag after the little debacle she caused was what made my whole operation quite simple. On Friday morning, she poked her annoying head into my cubicle with an extra big smile. It was all I could do to keep myself from beating her across her broad back with my broke-down keyboard, but I reasoned with myself that it would have probably felt like a 5-star massage to her giant frame and therefore refrained.

By lunchtime on Friday, I started to execute my little plan. Butterball always takes a two-hour lunch to scarf down the elephants she probably breeds. That was enough time for me to get in and out of her office.

At noon on the dot, she left the office building, and by 12:10 I was inside her office. I remembered that two weeks earlier, Butterball had told me about a certain photo album on her computer. It comprised pictures from her ill-fated trip to Grenada for Christmas with her hubby and children. Apparently, she had gotten the worst sunburn imaginable and had hidden the pictures safely away. Not even her good-for-nothing husband had seen them. Luckily for me (very unfortunately for her), she had managed to tell me exactly which folder on her computer they were in.

“Is in a folder name ‘Forbidden,’” she had said in a loud whisper.

Even as I opened the folder on her computer, all the while looking over my shoulder to make sure the coast was clear, I couldn’t help but think how dense someone had to be to name a computer folder “Forbidden” – because the word “forbidden” sounds oh-so-inconspicuous.

I quickly browsed through the pics – which were even more horrible than she had described – and started to pick out the best (or worst, depending on how you look at it). I quickly attached them to an e-mail and sent it to EVERYONE in the office through our internal network.

Now, some of you might think this was harsh, and I will admit in hindsight that it was. But I was a teen scorned! She had purposefully lied about me, and she needed to pay.

I bolted out of her office, my heart pounding, and rushed to my cubicle. As I sat down at my desk, a wide grin spread across my face. Mission accomplished.

Now it was time for the backlash … and an onslaught of bacchanal.

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