There was a Post-it note on the fridge this morning:
PLEASE DO NOT EAT OTHER PEOPLE’S BISCUITS
No smiley face. No contraction. Must be serious.
A story of stolen biscuits, hunger, and HR
Karen’s chocolate digestives were gone.
“I labelled them,” she said.
“I saw,” Jolon replied.
“Why are you still eating them?”
“I’m peckish.”
“They aren’t yours.”
Jolon held out a half-eaten biscuit. A peace offering.
“I’m telling HR.” Karen stared, waiting for a flinch.
Jolon didn’t.
Keeping eye contact, he munched her biscuit. Slowly.
She left.
There’s easily a three-hour film in that.