I just got asked if I would strip on the job. At the law firm. To elaborate: there’s this great kid Matt who’s been sorta part-timin’ here for the past few months, but he’s deserting us for “his education” or some crap like that so we’re all sad and we did all these goofy going-away things – my coworker Ann covered his chair in tinfoil like they did on The Office, and we did all these other gag-like things, because he was our main Office Prankster, and just now (in his earshot) our office manager came up to me and said “Virginia, since Matt wasn’t here to see the strippers we hired this morning for him, would you be willing to put on a performance?” Naturally, I obliged. (Just kidding. I believe my exact response was “it’s not in my job description – well, not my day job”). Aaaah, Matt – we’ll miss you. I’ll even miss being pelted in the copy room with rubber bands. My favorite Matt Memory was the time I literally took him aside and said, look, it’s not that we don’t enjoy your sense of humor [after he’d been snapped at by like 3 legal assistants in a row, myself included], it’s just that you have to know when to pick your moments… and proceeded to intricately explain all the telltale signs of Extreme Pressure And Therefore Lack of Humor that might warrant a save-the-rubber-banding-for-tomorrow on his part. And at the end of our good-natured little chat, when I turned to walk back to my stressful desk, he of course pelted me in the ass with a rubber band. Oh, Matt… I’m gonna miss that lil’ spark of humor testosterone you brought to the office. Sigh, back to the estrogen-fueled office catfights….