Oh My God Liz No One Thinks Your Teeth Are Interesting

Hi Liz,

This is your head’s up.

Next weekend’s all-staff retreat will include several ice-breakers including, but not limited to, “fun fact” and “two truths and a lie.”

It is in your best interest to plan ahead this time–like I do. At any given moment I have at least three fun facts at the ready, just so I have options depending on my audience. Audience is everything.

Which brings me to next weekend. As a representative for all your co-workers, I have a word of caution: no one thinks your teeth are interesting. Not me. Not Supervisor Dan. Not Cute Manager Dan. Not Weird-Mug-Warmer-On-Her-Desk Molly. Not Overly-Political-Posters-Pinned-To-Their-Cubicle-Wall Jax. No one.

And as was widely discussed behind your back during and after last year’s retreat, your “fun fact” that you only take food off of a fork with your teeth and that you wouldn’t date anyone who has an issue with it just wasn’t fun. It was boring. You know why? Because nobody honestly cares enough that you only take food off of a fork with your teeth to even have an opinion on it.

This whole hill-I-will-die-on mentality should be saved for important claims. Like orange Skittles are better than purple Skittles. You know, something divisive.

Your fun fact last year was even worse than Mini-Basketball-Hoop-Above-His-Trash-Can Craig’s fun fact. And he proclaimed that he always asks vegetarians where they get their protein from.

So, please. You have a week. Think.

I’m not asking you to divulge about that time in Iceland you met someone named Blaze who had purple hair and ya’ll went skinny dipping in a glacier. Or that time you learned the hard way that orange zest, when applied directly to the pupil, does not in fact make you psychic. Or that time at sleepaway camp when everyone was sleeping and you pulled back the covers on every girl in your cabin to warn them that sleeping with their backs to the door would invite in monster acorns that would tap dance on their brains.

I’m just saying, maybe something happened in Vegas that doesn’t have to stay in Vegas. Or in high school you were voted most likely to bore your colleagues–that one would be funny if it’s true. Or that you know how to play Moonlight Sonata backwards on a tuba.

Please, Liz. Think. You have time.

You could even take time off this week to peel through the layers of your life if need be. But, please, come next weekend’s retreat, have something that is worth eighteen seconds of our time.

Regards,
Shelby

P.S. You could always tell us about Blaze the Icelandic purple-haired skinny-dipper. I mean, if you wanted to.

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