Getting ready for work is hard enough, but it’s even harder when you wake up late. Today you hit snooze one too many times, and you’re running late. Uh-oh, you have to skip a few steps of your routine. 

You skip the toast and eggs and opt for a granola bar you can eat during your commute. You skip your morning cup of coffee and opt for a more accessible way of getting your caffeine fix, a can of Diet Coke. You don’t have time to brush your teeth, so you just stick some toothpaste in your mouth and chew it a little bit. 

There’s one step that’s too crucial to skip though. Your 60-year-old coworker, Henry, only flirts with you when you straighten your naturally wavy hair.

Dragging yourself to the bathroom, you brush your hair out. You spray some heat protectant in because Henry doesn’t like girls with heat damage, that’s for sure. After sectioning and straightening your hair with a flat iron, and burning your finger twice because you’re going so fast, you’re all set to go. Throw on the only clean company-issued shirt you have and keep the leggings you slept in on, girl! You’re all ready for work, but more importantly, for your 60 year old coworker to hit on you. 

You check the schedule. You’re here at 8, Henry’s getting in at 9. You can hardly wait, your stomach is in knots. Your interactions with him are the highlight of your day. The hour passes so, so slow, slower than how Henry walks every since he’s had that hip surgery. 

At 9:17am he staggers in. That’s so him, to be fashionably late. The room fills up with his signature scent: beef. You swoon. 

After making sure you two are the only people in the room, Henry goes to makes his daily move. 

“Tho, whath bars do you go to aroundth here?” Henry says, his voice slightly garbled due to his false teeth and what looks to you like a slightly enlarged tongue. 

“Oh, I’m 19,” you say back, laughing. Classic Henry. You’ve told him this time and time again, but he just loves playing dumb. It’s kind of your guy’s thing. 

“Wouw, I wouldn’th have thoht thath,” he says. 

Henry is the reason you button-up your company issued polo shirt all the way now. 

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