You're a Rotten, Mrs. Grinch

One of my superiors is quite the ray of sunshine.

You'd think during such a festive season, even the grumpiest souls could find joy somewhere in the depths of their cold hearts.

Not this woman.

Homegirl walks through the office looking like a 90-year-old hunchback with her arms folded over her chest and the worst posture I've ever witnessed. (Probably due to the stick up her ass.)

She could give Ben Stein a run for his money with her monotone voice and lack of facial expressions. She zaps any and all energy from the office because she has none.

This morning, I held the door to our suite open for her, and she didn't even acknowledge the gesture. No 'thank you,' no 'good morning.' Nothing.

I've met some of the most socially awkward people, and even they know how to say 'please' and 'thank you.' It's not a hard concept.

I avoid her like the plague. If I have to drop of something in her office, I wait until she leaves and then slide it under her door. And if, God forbid, I go to the kitchen to warm up my lunch and she's already there, I go back to my desk and wait five minutes until she'd done.

I just find it easier to interact with her as little as possible.

Wonder if there's any hope that her heart could grow three sizes and she would carve the roast beast? Now THAT would be a true Christmas miracle.

Where's Cindy Lou Who when you need her?