Emily, this email might seem bizarre, but so is that unflattering low-cut top you’re wearing. (You know, you really need a little more up front to pull off that look.)

We’ve never talked about it, but we both know it. The “helpful” corrections of each other’s weekly reports. The backhanded compliments about each other’s shoes. The suggestions for low-calorie recipes we exchange at every company meal. I’m sure to the rest of the office we’re just two co-workers like any other, but you and I know that we are bitter enemies. Left unchecked, our rivalry will destroy both of us, and possibly this entire office and the livelihoods of all who depend on it.

That’s why it’s time for us to settle this like ladies. By now you will have noticed the USB missile launcher I placed in your cubicle, unless you’re hung over again. There is a similar rocket launcher at my desk. At noon tomorrow, when Steve and the rest of the managers leave for lunch, I will begin bombarding your cubicle with foam missiles. You will return fire. We will continue this confrontation until one of us gives in and admits she’s been a total bitch.

Failure to return fire will be considered a forfeit on your part. If you’re supposed to meet Humberto from Shipping in the supply closet for “lunch”, call him now and cancel. I’m not asking you – I’m telling you.

Sometime between now and then, hook up the launcher to an open USB port on your computer. You can use your keyboard or mouse to aim and fire the rockets. It’s easy enough for even you to figure out, but if you have any problems, call me and I’ll walk you through it. Whatever you do, don’t call IT. If Steve gets wind of this, he’ll stop the whole thing and fire us both. Besides, the IT guys are tired of you bothering them all the time. They probably don’t even take your calls anymore.

Oh. In case you’re wondering, I still haven’t forgotten the time you humiliated me in front of the Board of Directors by “helping” me with the projector screen. And I assume you’re probably still obsessed over the way I brushed dandruff off of your shoulder while you were talking to that cute UPS guy. Despite your usual appearance, I thought you might actually want to look good for a change. Excuse me for caring. Anyway, I asked him about it before I left his apartment the next morning and he didn’t even remember you. So I don’t know what you’re all upset about. But whatever.

Once we’ve settled this with our USB missile launchers, we can get on with our lives – the winner happy and secure in the knowledge of her superiority, the loser humbly accepting her subordinate place, or perhaps finding another job somewhere else. Either way, we’ll be able to put our differences behind us and move forward in a spirit of reconciliation, you fat, trashy, mean-spirited slut.

Bombs away -
Jennifer

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