This morning my adorable co-worker approached my desk, wearing an impish grin. “I bought you a Valentine’s Day gift,” she said. I immediately panicked as I had nothing to give in return. That was until she presented me with this:
“You’re contaminating my workspace, leave immediately.”
As my hatred for Vera Bradley is widely known on the Interwebs and in the marble halls, clearly, she meant the gift as a gag. But either way, just having it near me makes me feel less fashionable. I am currently formulating a plot for retribution.
To 3 Worst Valentine’s Day gifts: dead flowers, an STD and a Vera Bradley clutch.