Sharon

We have a woman at work, Sharon - it's always a Sharon, hey - who is off sick with cancer, from all accounts, she is very unwell and not expected to get better.

She is always making contact and bitching about something. Yes, okay, you are dying, we get it, boo hoo, life is unfair, you and your cats, but please stop being such a bitch about it.

Truth is that she was always a bit of a bitch. Leopards, and all that.

Too harsh, I hear you say? Sure, maybe it is, but in the end none of us know about the pain she is in, we only know about the pain she is putting us through.

We see emails from her and the first thing we do is groan at the thought, even before we have read them.

Boris, and the big PooBah, have it worst, she rings them up and berates them. At least I only get emails that I can ignore.

Terminal cancer hasn't made her any nicer. 

And, quite frankly, I don't have to like her now just because she is dying.

This morning, I signed into work to be greeted by another Sharon email, sent with high importance, in the subject line 'Please Explain????' 

Oh, groan.

Am I being mean? Yeah, sure. But, I am only saying it to you. I'm not saying it to her.

And, I guess, all she has got to do now is sit at home and feel her life slip away. That can't easy.