That word best describes the Hallmark store for men. What most don't realize is that those caring cards you send to your loved ones expressing sympathy, giving an apology or to celebrate an occasion come from some very detestable people who, in all honesty, should never be involved with such things at all. Such as my ex-boss, Theresa. Only one word could truly define her:
It described her better than anything else. She managed to displace air with her demeanor, make babies stop crying with her stare and could kill flowers with a smile. (Which, obviously, was bad for business and why we only sold fake flowers or scented candles). Then there was her ass. It's volume seemed stuffed full of all the hate she bore for everything we did, regardless of reason or right. She could move more air within our store than a jumbo jet engine could outside. Rightly so, she swaggered. Her legs had no choice but to move out of the way of one another as she navigated (or forced her way through) the aisles. Now, don't get me wrong; a bit of bu-dunk-a-dunk isn't necessarily a bad thing. In fact sometimes it can be downright amazing and some people even make a living off of theirs. But Theresa was different. Her hindquarters were as completely disproportional to her body size as much as her dislike of us was to how we treated her, and that made her quite the oddity. It made it difficult for her to walk through doors, sit down, or even tell the employees to get moving because, let's face it; who honestly listens to someone that can't even control themselves?
So, there I was one day, watching the floor for grandmothers pushed to the edge by unruly and greedy grandchildren who, rather than pay for cards to appear like they cared, opted to steal them instead. And as 'Mama Mia' played for the thousandth time over the speakers, I saw Ms.Theresa (obviously single) waltz over indignantly looking for a fight with the only guy comfortable enough with his sexuality to do retail at a Hallmark store: