Hi boys, it's your office mommy, Lizzie! Ding ding ding! Important memo coming through! Quit fartin' around and give it a read, OK? Seems like a few members of our little workplace family have been taking a little too much advantage of the fun atmosphere, and maybe it's time to make a few rules!

I hear ya: boooooo!

There's little Lizzie being an old ruleypuss again, right? Well, listen, cuties, Lizzie still loves ya, but she has to lay down the law. I'm not here to name names and play the shame game... just want to clear the air so we can all have tons of fun and get things done!

1. First and most important, because it's about me: I'm a five-foot-one firecracker and I don't care how macho you are, I will conk your big coconut if you eat my lunch again! And it's gonna hurt, hope to tell ya. I may be small, but I grew up with four big Irish brothers and I know how to box your ears. But physical violence is not OK in the workplace-- gotta say that so I don't get sued! Ha! But watch your back because I know who you are! I'm flattered that you like my sandwich making skills, but sheesh!

2. Hey lushy! You know who you are, mister man: this is an office, not a dive bar. I love to have fun as much as the next gal... unless the next gal is my hubby's sister! But I kid, I love Holly... and all her boyfriends! But back to the boozy bits: Mr. Man, I've been around long enough to know the difference between chicken soup and a hot thermos full of King Cobra. OK? The smell carries if ya microwave it, boy howdy! Lunch time is for keeping my big strong boys fed, not for a little nip of the doggy hair. We can all smell it when you drink it, we can all hear you crying in the bathroom and we DEFINITELY noticed when you made a little baby burp and your mouth filled right up with chunky foam, even though you tried to hide it by rubbing your face and surreptitiously making a little pukey down the inside of your jacket sleeve. Denim is a great cloth, a top tenner for sure... but, Mr. You Know Who, it can't hold the smell of King Cobra and ham sandwich barfies, even if you put a rubber band on your cuff to hold it in. Rubber bands are for the mail, everybody! Not for holding your hot puke all day to ferment.

4. And if you MUST bring malt liquor in once in a while, keep it cold and make sure Lizzie gets a sip or two! Ha! Our little secret, pally!

5. Hellooooo! There's a lady present, kiddos. Keep your shirts on, keep the toots quiet and when you come out of the bathroom, for heaven's sake, you can't leave your whatchamacallit swinging in the breeze! Put it away and zip it up, for the love of Mike. I'm no prude-- remember the postcard I sent you boys from Hawaii? Spicy humor is fine... I like it a little picante! But enough of the horseplay with the willies, OK? Getting in a circle around Benny at lunch and slapping him in the face with your wedding tackles is NOT a thing we do in front of a lady. Save it for your wives! I don't think Benny liked it much either! Not gonna say that's why he killed himself, but it can't have helped. Tisk tisk, boys!

6. I love all of my boys, but I get a little fierce when it comes to hanky-panky! We're all here to do a job, fellas, and I think we all know that job does NOT include using our bathroom as your own little love-nest with your special lady. I know you boys get a little amorous once in a while, and hey, I'm human-- I might look the other way if there's some mushy stuff once in a while when your special lady comes to visit! Wink wink! But PLEASE, boys, keep it clean and have a little courtesy! Who do you think had to clean it up when a certain Mr. Big Stuff let his little lady give very messy birth in the men's room handicapped stall? That would be yours truly, and I don't want to do it again. Yikes! I don't even like going in the little boys' room when someone HASN'T just given goopy poopy birth all over. Phew! There's only one office "mommy" around here, and it's Lizzie... let's keep it that way!

7. I've been called a fiery redhead, but I'll tell you what I don't like: fires! Let's keep them to a minimum, cuties. Keep them out of the office. Oh, and new rule: my car counts as part of the office, so no more fires in Lizzie's car! Not funny, you big lunkheads. OK... maybe just a tiny bit funny. Ha! But you've made your point!

8. Can you say testosterone overload? Last time I checked, you were big grown men with big-boy jobs, OK? Do grown-ups settle their differences with hitting? Not where I come from, fellas. Me and my four big brothers got in our share of scraps, but it never got bloody and goodness knows it stopped at adulthood. Next time you're feeling grouchy and somebody gets your goat, just let it go. Remember what the main man said about turning the other cheek. I know it gets hectic around here during big rush orders, but that's no excuse to put Randy's head in a vice till it pops like a grape! Who do you think has to visit him in the hospital and feed him his pudding, huh? You're looking at her, buster brown. Next time you get all bent out of shape, why not come talk to me? I had four big brothers, and if there's one thing I know it's how to cool 'em down when they get mad-- that's why we survived past puberty!

9. On that note, have some respect and leave poor Randy alone while he's trying to recuperate, will ya? Makes it hard to feed him his dang pudding when you bust in like a bunch of apes and try to finish him off with a baseball bat! Give him a few months to get back on his feet and regain his sight, lord willing, so he has a fighting chance, ya big lugs. Then grab that Louisville Slugger... and report to Carson Park! Coach Lizzie settles her fights on the softball field, and you'd better fall in line, team.

10. I know, I know, it's not fair: there are a dozen big burly boys and only one men's room, and just one little lady (ME, in case you hadn't noticed) and she gets a woman's room all to herself. It's just the way things work! You gotta go when you gotta go, but if the men's room is occupado, take a whiz in the bushes! I had four brothers, guys, I know how this works. What you DON'T do in that situation, and I'm not gonna name any names, is bust right into the lady's room while I'm doing my dainty business and pee in the sink a foot from my head! Gross, guys. And what you REALLY don't EVER do again-- sorry if I get a little fierce on this one, but I have to say it-- you NEVER bust in and use the toilet like I'm not already sitting on it! It's not a bunk bed, kiddos. This toilet is a one-woman show, and you don't have tickets!

So those are the new rules, you big hunks! OK? Get it? Got it? Good! Now come on over to my desk, because I'm giving out free hugs all day. Aww! Pardon the mushy stuff, but I still love my boys, even if they get a little outta line and I gotta smack em around!


Administrative OFFICE MOMMY!

– Lizzie (@Arr)

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