“God, this editing job is boring me senseless.”

Ange went to the liquor cabinet to grab a gleaming-blue bottom of Bombay Sapphire (even though she’d told herself that she wouldn’t drink today).

“Maybe I can make it more fun by taking a swig of Gin every time I see a colon misused (bastards!)…”

It was only at this point that Ange realized she was talking to herself.

“Well, who cares?”

Talking to yourself is a sign of impending insanity…

“No, it’s not!” She muttered, staring at the jewel-wreathed portrait of Queen Victoria on the Bombay bottle (no particular reason).

She sighed. “Back to work. You know, I should really be grateful to be a freelancer, editing news articles from home. Other people need to leave their houses and put pants on to work!”

Highly undignified. Do you not feel shameful?

“Well, a little bit. Maybe I’ll just put on a sundress.” Ange pattered up the stairs, pulled a blue, flowered dress off a hanger, and onto herself. She sat back down at her desk.

Much more becoming.