Since Molly's push-up bra seemed to work in gaining me an extra hour of a lunch break a few months before, I decided that perhaps I would try it again and land a free dinner from one of the hopeless and fat typesetters at work. Yes, I had fallen to a new low.

While Molly was still sprawled out on top of her bed, sheets twisted around her ankles after one steamy dream, I imagine, I dug through her top drawer where she hid the cigarettes. Sure enough, the infamous red lacy brassiere was tucked in the corner. I slowly pulled it out of hiding and tiptoed out of her room as she let out a ravished moan.

Having abandoned all pride and morality, I floated into my cubicle at The Enquirer, making sure to wink at all the fat men I possibly could. For the first half hour, I was a little disgusted with myself and their drooling, bug-eyed reactions, but by ten I was perfectly comfortable squishing my faux perk together and grinning.

In light of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, a few of the secretaries at the office had splurged and decorated the entire place with brown and orange streamers, cardboard cornucopias, and blow-up turkeys. On my way back from dancing in front of one of the gossip editors' desks, I snatched an inflatable turkey to bring back to my desk. I for one hated Thanksgiving and all those little pilgrims, but the turkey was too cute to ignore.

Edward, our "boss" of sorts, passed by my cubicle and peered down over the edge trying to ignore me playing with the turkey. When he addressed me, however, he looked away and threw a file on my desk. "Kate, I need you to give me something decent about Princess Diana by three."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Kate, I don't kid." This was true; the shrunken, fuzzy haired sorry excuse for a man had no sense of humor and always made me twitch when he looked at me. "By the way, once you have that report done we need to discuss your latest wardrobe endeavors in my office. K, thanks." He wandered off, tripping over a stack of papers outside of my cubicle. I wondered what kind of mother could possibly live with herself knowing she had birthed and raised such a moron for a son.

I decided to take lunch in the office break room that day to schmooze with some more of the reporters I worked with. Much to my disappointment, only three of my coworkers bothered to stay in the office for their lunch break. I sat by the circular table and forced down my Tupperware full of cereal and room temperature milk.

Two of the lunch dwellers were women whom I'd never met before, so I waved at them hoping to strike up a conversation.

"Hussy," one of them mumbled under her breath, before picking up her blue insulated lunch box and leaving the small room

For the love of God, I just wanted a free dinner.

Once my bowl of Cocoa Puffs was finished, I wandered back into the main office to start up my bullshit story about the discovery of Princess Diana's "other lover." For some reason it seemed like more people were staring at me than usual. Normally, the attention would have been welcomed, but something told me they weren't watching me for my abnormally large breasts.

"Hey Kate," one of the younger mail boys waved at me as he pushed a cart around past my desk.

"Hey Lloyd." Ask me to dinner, offer me sex, buy me a ring.

He reached into my cubicle and started removing my beloved office supplies.

"Lloyd, what are you doing with my hole-puncher? And my white out? And my fax machine…"

"Mr. Robertson," that would be Edward, "told me to tell you that he wants your story now instead of at three."

"But it's only one o'clock, I just got done with lunch."

"Sorry," he shied away, plucking the paperclips off my desk and quickly pushing the cart away.

Curious, I grabbed my rough draft and walked to Edward's office, the entire Enquirer staff watching me as I went. When I reached his door, I knocked and watched as everyone seemed to lean a little bit closer.

"Come in, Kate."

"Mr. Robertson," I grinned, pushing my chest out a bit as I laid the copy on his desk. "What did you want to talk to me about?" I half listened to him as I was completely distracted by the junk cluttering his walls. Every inch of his office was plastered with old magazine covers ranging from "Celeb Cellulite Revealed" to "300 Pound baby born in China."

"Your attitude around this office lately has been a little less than professional."

Oh, fuck. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Smile. Smile. Smile.

"Kate," he didn't return my smile, "Miss Murdoch," Oh my God, "I'm not going to bore you with a long-winded explanation. Just know that your five years here at The Enquirer have been nothing short of appreciated; we just don't have the funds to keep you or your wardrobe here any longer."

"Lloyd stole my white out."

"I'm sorry?"

"I want my white out back."

He pulled out his wallet and pushed a one dollar bill across the desk with his index finger, "How about you buy yourself some new white out, then? Have a nice day."

I helped myself off his desk where I had perched and calmly walked out of his office, noticing everyone quickly turn away from his door and continue working. I chased after Lloyd and stole back my white out before returning to my desk to pack up. Once I had collected my high lighters and pocketbook, I decided none of the shit was worth keeping. Before I made my final exit, however, I marched over to Louis Bremmer's desk, the man who took my brilliant prose and bastardized it with pop culture and lies, to bid him farewell.

"Louis," I draped myself over his cubicle wall.

"Kate," he nervously laughed and loosened his tie.

"I just wanted to let you know that these past five years I have been nothing but miserable working under you. Good luck writing that shit by yourself." I reached over and took his pack of cigarettes. "You won't need them."

My sudden burst of over-confidence quickly disappeared the minute I began descending the fifteen flights of stairs to the sidewalk with my new plastic pet turkey. That fucking bra was such bad luck.