Lost and Found

My boyfriend just wasn’t good enough, so I slipped some sleeping pills into his coffee and dragged him down to the lost and found.

The woman working behind the counter yelped when I tried to stuff him into the box. “You can’t leave that here, ma’am.” She stood up and peered through the partition. “He’s not dead, is he?”

“Nah. You sure I can’t leave him here? I’ll pay you.” His shoe fell off, so I picked it up and balanced it on his nose. “Come on, you’ve gotta help me out! I keep trying to break up with him, but he’s. . . he’s a crier.”

She came out from her office and stared at him, now drooling onto his shirt. “So he’s sensitive?”

I rolled my eyes. “You have no idea.”

“Got a job?”

“He’s a manager at McDonald’s.” I shrugged. “Which was okay four years ago, but . . .”

She laughed. “My last guy ran pyramid schemes.” She shoved a clipboard at me. “Fill this out, and I think I can take him off your hands.” She moved the shoe. “Hmmm, not bad. Nice eyes.”

“Great.” I signed with a flourish and a grin.