It's the day after my party and I'll whine if I want to.

I just signed a “we’ll miss you” card for a girl I work with who is leaving the department to work somewhere else within the company. The thing is, I won’t miss her, I don’t wish her luck, and I am glad she is leaving.

After my bubbily morning post, you may be asking yourself, why I suddenly have my panties in a tightly-wound bundle. So please allow me to explain. This bitter-streak probably has something to do with the fact that this card was just one in a long line of many that I have had to sign for other people’s big days; and yesterday, for my birthday, not a single person bothered to get a card for me.

Sure they’ll attack the birthday cookies I am required to bring (like a pack of rabid dogs) and they may even say 'thank you' and, in passing wish me a happy birthday, but no cards. And trust me, I know these are really just a crappy wanna-be Hallmarker filled with empty and generic sentiments and carelessly scribbled signatures, but I like to pretend I am well-liked here. Even if I do secretly plot my co-workers demise each and every day.