Any other day Susan would have accepted Smitty’s apology and moved on. Today, however, the answer was no.
“Sorry, Smitty,” she said, “but as you can see, I’m wearing my Fuck Off sandals. When I wear my Fuck Off sandals, I do what they tell me, and they’re telling me to tell you to, you know.”
“Fuck off?” Smitty guessed. He didn’t dare look her in the face. Not that he really could, being a foot shorter by nature, and more when she was wearing ‘those shoes’. He was always looking up at her, if not up to her. She was the boss, but she was not a good one, except on those days when she accepted his apologies and moved on.
“It’s no fair,” Smitty said to himself, “just because she’s wearing ‘those shoes’ doesn’t give her the right to be mean to me especially when, like, you know, it wasn’t really my fault that the hamster escaped and crapped all over her desk. It’s a hamster! It wants to get out. It wants to crap on desks. It’s what they do!”
“Now go and sit down, and remember what I told you.”
“Go fuck myself?”
“That’s a good boy.”