verbicide | (no subject)

My office is, in general, like a sauna. I need to talk to maintenance about it.

I decided to get a diet Snapple to cool off. I stopped and moisturized my mummified hands while I was at it. Upon returning to my office, I found, to my bewilderment, that I actually couldn't open the fucking bottle. No, seriously. I sat here, puzzled. Repeatedly twisting. One hand, then the other. I grabbed a tissue and wiped off some of the lotion. I tried using the tissue. I used my teeshirt. Finally, I thumped down to Jeff's office.

Me: Jeff. Um. I can't open this damn bottle.
Jeff: *gleeful twinkle* That's okay, my grandmother has the same problem.
Me: *hiss* I keep trying. And I can't believe it won't fucking open!! I just moisturized, that's the problem.
Jeff: *wildly amused* Perhaps if the Danskin Triathlon has weight-lifting, you should reconsider...
Me: Mrrrrrrrh. *struggle, strain*
Jeff: Would you like me to give it a shot?
Me: *glare* I can't believe it won't open.
Jeff: *twist, open*
Me: I loosened it for you. Mrh.
Jeff: Mmm. You must have been too... *pause* lubed up.
Me: Mrrrrrrh. Thank you.