Every office has that preening dimwit, oblivious to their own ineptitude, with whom everyone else is forced to cope. In my office, I'm pretty sure it's me. Sarah says that in her office, it's Rhiannon. Her family owns the business, and naturally she's in charge. She drips her fetid slime on everyone's work, which brings us to last week.
When Sarah needs to vent, she sends me the advertising copy Rhiannon writes. To say it's written at the eighth-grade level is invite a class-action defamation suit from 13 year olds. Cute characters, all caps, underlining, exclamation points—IT'$ ALL THERE! Once when Rhiannon wrote that there were "to many" of something, I changed it to "too." Rhiannon changed it back.
You get the idea.
So last week, I was reading some particularly vile copy and was inspired to bust out my favorite editorial expression of utter frustration. I wrote: "WHAT THE FUCK? I MEAN, WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?"
When Sarah replied, she said that she particularly enjoyed the "fuckity" comment.
I realize this is a pretty lengthy preamble for a link, but now read this chestnut from six years ago. What are the odds?
I called Katrina, long a fan of the Annette story, to share this latest chapter. She was delighted. She also shared that she, just the day before, had used the term "fuckity" and thought of me. I suppose I'd be flattered...if I'd ever in my life used this word. The words I like to think I made up, like "Yoko" and "McMansion?" No credit. "Fuckity?" It'll probably be on my tombstone.