Today, this was triggered by Gay Manager sashaying over and waving his limp wrist around dramatically whilst yelling, "Who's wearing perfume? Bettie has allergies! BETTIE. HAS. ALLERGIES!"
So I have on a half a rolly ball of Katy Perry's Killer Queen, BFD. I'm pretty sure he's more upset by the fact that I got it at Walgreens than he is about Bettie's delicate sensibilities. Maybe if I came to work in a tiny Burberry coat like his, dabbed with Chanel #5, he would leave me alone or even utter something to me other than "what are you doing with your life" when I bring him a file to review.
That question took me aback. I stood clutching my purchase order for 3,000 rolls of toilet seat covers wondering how to answer him and why I should have to anyway. What am I doing with my life? He was referencing the fact that I hadn't promoted in years and came to work looking like a (more) disheveled Patti Smith every day. How is that any of his bidness? Was he looking out for me, or just being a bitch? He doesn't know what sort of challenges I face (other than bad hair and fat assery).
Ruder than smelling like Katy Perry, IMO.