At my company, there's this one manager who likes to traipse over to our office to speak with my boss about this or that project. She's probably close to my age, perhaps a bit younger. I can't give you her real name here, so let's call her Pooh Bear. Her signature trait is a cartoonishly loud, high-pitched voice that sucks the dignity out of everything she says, no matter how important or urgent or profound. Imagine an Aristotle-themed discourse on how to live a good life being given by a helium-voiced unicorn. Or just imagine Peter Cook's priest in "The Princess Bride."
Pooh Bear came by a couple days ago and spoke at length with my boss, but as she was leaving, she turned to me and said, "You look younger... have you been exercising?"
Since I'm not allowed to reveal what I actually did over the course of the past month, given the unorthodox length of my vacation, I distantly replied:
"A little."
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