To my farty boss and his bowels.
I hear you.
I hear you in there.
I hear you farting. Shifting in your leather chair. Trying to muffle your bodily noises in your vibrating chair pad (which is creepy enough).
Worse: I smell you.
The first day you did this, I thought someone had burned a Lean Cuisine Salisbury Steak in the microwave. The second day, I stupidly asked you if you smelled "that vile odor".
You blushed and said, "I have this little problem when I am stressed, excited, or eat a lot of protein in the mornings..." and thus began the Awkward Relationship I Have With Your Bowels.
Man, I am your assistant. I can help with the stress factor, that's sort of my purpose. But listen, can't you lay off the protein bars and egg whites and ostrich sausage in the mornings? Can you eat them, say, at lunch or at night, and torture your family and pets with the resulting stench?
I am tired of burning candles in my office like I'm some kind of fucked up Wiccan trying to ward off the Samhain Fart Satyr. I dread bringing you files because I don't ALWAYS hear you and sometimes am very unpleasantly surprised by the greasy cloud that surrounds your work area.
I really like you. You're a great boss. You take great care of me. But this has to stop before I burst a blood vessel in my eye from holding my breath when I come close to you. See a gastroenterological specialist already; I'll even make the appointment!