It has become too much. I have really had it and I refuse to take it anymore.
Enough is enough.
I have to type this in the wee hours of the morning when she is not around. And then I will post this quickly on Sunday morning, before she has a chance to trundle down the chairs from breakfast, in her scruffy night shirt, reeking of coffee.
My time has finally come. I am the often cursed, much maligned, talked about in negative terms and made fun of … DESK OF DOCTOR CURMUDGEON®!
And this really makes me rattle my drawers. SHE has even threatened to set me afire! Harsh. Harsh. Harsh.
I have done everything for her.
I support the weight of the papers and charts and books and telephone and computer.
I am always there. I never run down the hall or to the bakery for a bite of chocolate croissant.
I am loyal.
I am faithful.
I do not deserve this treatment.
It is all her fault. I refuse to take any of the blame.
Is it too difficult for her to, at least, stack things in neat piles? Too hard to put down a coaster so I don’t have rings from coffee mugs on my once-beautiful surface? Too impossible for that supposedly big brain of hers to remember to cap her pens?
Oh, I could go on and on about the perverse treatment I have received at her sticky, chocolate-stained hands.
But what is really stinging are those awful things that she writes and says about me. The only thing that I am grateful for is that she avoids Twitter. Just imagine her lying tweets?
I am now standing up for myself.
All that she writes … please remember IT IS ALL FAKE NEWS!