When you don't care for someone, his breathing just annoys you

It's been a minute since I've had something to say about Wonderland. I've been trying to turn lemons into lemonade.

What I really want to do is squeeze lemon juice in little Bookman's eyes. When you lie as easily as you breathe, it just makes it hard to deal with you —even on those rare occasions where I have to talk at this clown.

Let me take you back to Monday. I woke up late, needed to shower, get dressed and make it to work without being super duper late.
I wore a dress. It wasn't a mini dress, but it wasn't a maxi dress either. Knee skimming.

I get to Wonderland and there is no water for coffee. So, in my dress, I go get this big ass water bottle to hook up to the coffee machine — which is the best thing about this place. I'm strong, but that thing is heavy. I get to the machine, I'm about to hook it up and here comes Bookman.
"Let me that for you."

I'm thinking, you SOB, you could've gotten this when I was struggling carrying this shit. I shot back, "I got it."

He goes to the manager and then the manager calls me into the office and tells me that I need to be careful when bending over. He prefaces this by saying,  "This is a sensitive subject and I should probably have someone in here. . ."
I asked him if he wanted me to go home and change since my skirt length was such a problem. He said no. I told him, I'll gladly go home.

Anyway. Little Bookman, who has halitosis and smokes, which causes his breath to smell like the inside of a dead man's ass, tells another coworker that the manager was the one who said something about my skirt and he didn't know why I was mad because he was trying to help me out.

Nah, son. You're being a pervy perv perv!