I’m sorry, but I cannot stand you. Your voice is hideously obnoxious, your stories are terrible and strongly indicative of your trailer park tendencies, and you don’t seem to understand that nobody else in the large office we share wishes to hear your personal phone conversations. Are you under the mistaken impression that the five-foot high walls that surround each of us somehow prevent sound from traveling? Let me be the first to assure you that they do not. I want to personally strangle you with your phone cord whenever you call your daughter “Stinky” and when you coo loudly to the person you refer to as “Boo Boo”. I also feel the need to point out that shouting at your husband for wanting to watch NASCAR all day, and then vehemently complaining to our coworkers that you want to kill him for being so annoying only makes you seem all the more abrasive. It’s quite clear that you are a redneck; you really don’t need to exacerbate that image by shouting about goin’ to the Piggly Wiggly and gettin’ beer to drink during the race on Sunday. And finally, please for the LOVE OF GOD stop standing in the cubicle next to mine and telling your life story, complete with actual excerpts of dialogue, to our poor coworker. She may have the willpower of a saint (or the hearing of an aging sloth) but I possess neither quality and am wishing endless pain and misery upon you.