Escalating Frequency
He stopped explaining. A glance or an internal call from Jenna, and he’d silently leave. Colleagues noticed. At lunch, Lily leaned across the table, whispering, "Mark playing coffee gopher again? Jenna treating him like her personal assistant?" Her tone held knowing amusement. I forced a smile. That evening, my simmering irritation boiled over. "Mark, can you stop fetching her coffee? The whole department is watching!" He rummaged in the fridge for beer, snapping over his shoulder, "So what? It’s not a secret! She pays! Five-fifty a cup, she gives seven—I pocket the tip! What’s your problem?"
The First Fight
"Tip money?" My voice rose. "Why can't she get it herself? Why not ask someone else? Why require *your* wrist? It's demeaning!" "Enough!" Mark slammed the fridge door, beer can denting in his grip. "Jenna is Jenna! High-maintenance! Demanding! The world revolves around her! Should I refuse? Risk her making my life hell? Tanking my bonus? Pay my bills?" He cracked the beer open, gulped it down. "Stop picking fights. I'm exhausted." His dismissive irritation choked off my words.
The Tampons
A frantic Friday, project deadline looming. The office crackled with tension. Jenna called Mark in again. He emerged swiftly, clutching a thick envelope, face ten times more mortified than during the coffee saga. Head down, he scurried out like a thief, avoiding my gaze. My stomach dropped. The envelope’s shape… unmistakable. Every woman knows. He returned empty-handed, eyes averted, sinking into his chair. I messaged him: "What did she make you buy?" Minutes later, the reply: "Tampons." Followed by: "Drop it! Pissed off!"
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He stopped explaining. A glance or an internal call from Jenna, and he’d silently leave. Colleagues noticed. At lunch, Lily leaned across the table, whispering, "Mark playing coffee gopher again? Jenna treating him like her personal assistant?" Her tone held knowing amusement. I forced a smile. That evening, my simmering irritation boiled over. "Mark, can you stop fetching her coffee? The whole department is watching!" He rummaged in the fridge for beer, snapping over his shoulder, "So what? It’s not a secret! She pays! Five-fifty a cup, she gives seven—I pocket the tip! What’s your problem?"
The First Fight
"Tip money?" My voice rose. "Why can't she get it herself? Why not ask someone else? Why require *your* wrist? It's demeaning!" "Enough!" Mark slammed the fridge door, beer can denting in his grip. "Jenna is Jenna! High-maintenance! Demanding! The world revolves around her! Should I refuse? Risk her making my life hell? Tanking my bonus? Pay my bills?" He cracked the beer open, gulped it down. "Stop picking fights. I'm exhausted." His dismissive irritation choked off my words.
The Tampons
A frantic Friday, project deadline looming. The office crackled with tension. Jenna called Mark in again. He emerged swiftly, clutching a thick envelope, face ten times more mortified than during the coffee saga. Head down, he scurried out like a thief, avoiding my gaze. My stomach dropped. The envelope’s shape… unmistakable. Every woman knows. He returned empty-handed, eyes averted, sinking into his chair. I messaged him: "What did she make you buy?" Minutes later, the reply: "Tampons." Followed by: "Drop it! Pissed off!"
NEXT >>
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