Dear Fruit Thief:
How were your strawberries? Oh, wait - they weren't YOURS. I get that we all share a fridge... but I thought we all sort of just ate our own food. The joke - so obviously - is on me. I'm guessing you thought that 'whoever brought those yummy little berries' wouldn't even notice, right?
You see, when you're a massive Type A like myself there's a good chance you filled up the bag of strawberries for work EXACTLY half full. And were further tickled when you counted 12 of them in there! 12! Yay! So, you can imagine my disappointment when I got out my bag and noticed it was only 1/3 full and I only counted 9 berries.
That said, I am thankful that you only stole 3 of my hormone-injected berries (let's face it - it's winter in Nebraska... those things ain't just-a-growin' wild right now) and not the entire bag.
Further, I'm thankful that I had not yet washed them so you no doubt had a funny taste of dirt, various insecticides, and my own dirty hands in your mouth. I like to call that the taste of guilt.
I hope a seed gets stuck in your teeth.