“Groddy!” I whisper under my breath, my face inches from the computer monitor, my eyes squinting.
He walks in — of course — he can’t pass up something like this. “What?” He puts his hand on my left shoulder and leans in over my right, staring at my LinkedIn page.
“It’s recommending that I connect with this guy,” I nod toward the photo. “I’m, like, ew! I had a crush on him in high school, big time. NOW look at him!”
“Um, his hair is white?”
“HE’S ANCIENT!” I blurt. “Good, God! What happened to these people?”
“He, um, looks OK to me for a 50-something guy.”
“Blech.”
“Now, now, not everyone can have your youthful exuberance and playful nature . . . and, of course, blond hair,” his voice oozes sarcasm.
“Well, they should,” I mumble with a sardonic chuckle, clicking off the page and trying to ignore the disdainful glare boring into my brain.
At Least They're Committed 
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