AN email’s hopes to find its recepient well have been cruelly dashed by her foul f**king mood.
Office manager Emma Bradford, who had already been sandwiched between two groins on the Northern line and dealt with a server outage before reaching her desk, opened the email with no sense of wellness or radiant joy.
She said: “I suppose it’s lovely the email has hope, because it’s been crushed right the f**k out of me.
“You ‘hope I’m well’ but you’re not really interested, are you? Bet you’re not keen to hear about my nasty little flare-up of thrush.
“We all know you want something otherwise you wouldn’t be emailing. No-one in the history of the internet has ever emailed a work contact just to see if they’re finding these November mornings a bit gloomy.
“Older colleagues sending one-word replies used to annoy me, but now I understand. They’ve been hoped to have been found well one too many times and they’re dead inside. Well-wishing is simple sadism.
“In the end I replied ‘All great here thanks, hope you too E x’. Confident the twat that sent it knows I want to see him die a slow, painful death.”
