duck-shaped pain

I brought in a can of the aforementioned soup for lunch today. It's a good lunch -- reliable, portable, shelf-stable, goes with lots of things, and I honestly like the taste of canned condensed tomato soup. When I got to work, I put it in the cupboard, on my designated shelf, [1] where it sat and waited until I was ready to eat it.

Come lunch time, I bounded into the kitchen, thinking about the bowl of hot red soup that I was about to eat. The best thing I one could ask for on a cold day, although having a grilled cheese sandwich or quesadilla to accompany it would make it better.

I was in a total head-in-the-clouds state, brought on by my tomato soup reverie. This state came to an abrupt end when I walked in and saw L, the annoying coworker, opening my can of soup.

"Hey, that's my soup. It was on my shelf and is to be my lunch," I said.

Blank stare.

"No, The Employer brought this in for me to eat," she said. "It's my lunch."

Now, keep in mind that The Employer would never bring in anything for us to eat, unless it was an incredibly exceptional and rare occasion, and in that instance, there would be food for everyone. Bringing in small, covert individual gifts, such as a can of tomato soup, is just not done. So I didn't believe her for a moment, especially since there was exactly zero cans of tomato soup in the building this morning until I brought one in, and the amount present remained at one -- the one she held in her grubby little soup-stealing hands.

I really did not know how to respond. Do I act all nonchalant, as if swiping someone's soup and then lying about it is the kind of total accident that could happen to anyone? Do I appeal to higher authority, calling over The Employer and then asking him where my can of soup is, since he was so nice as to bring her one? Or do I scream and carry on? "BITCH! GIVE ME BACK MY SOUP!"

Those of you who know me well can probably guess what I resorted to instead. The piercing, what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you, my-disdain-for-you-is-equivalent-to-the-white-hot-passion-of-a-white-hot-burning-thing stare. Effective in many situations, especially those involving obnoxious people on the bus, misbehaving dogs, people who try to sell you things, and now, tomato soup thieves.

I glared at her until she slowly started to put the can of soup down. "Oh," she said. "I just remembered I have a sandwich in the fridge that I brought in. Here, I'll let you have the soup."

Not a perfect outcome -- no fessing up, no weepy confessions -- but at least I got my soup back.

I am so behind on the Christmas schedule. I have barely any presents bought, and I have no good ideas for what I should buy the remaining people. I'm just not into the holiday this year, I'm afraid.

Most of my Christmas cards are now sent. I sent off the first wave about a week and a half ago, send off another bunch earlier this week, and should be sending off the rest this weekend. Sort of late, I know, but the cards took longer than I expected. If you're anticipating a card from me and still haven't received one, sit tight. It's coming, sooner or later.

[1] Yes, we have our own cubbyholes, as if it were kindergarten. Which is about the only other place on Earth that I can imagine such a tomato-soup-related squabble occurring.

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