"Yes, yes, you're co-workers who host holiday parties together but only because it so conveniently locked you into an obligation of post-party cleanup," I say with a dismissive flick of the wrist. I didn't buy that the first time he tried to sell it and nothing's changed since then. "And if that's is a neck massager then I'm Miss America."

Good God, I hope he at least had the presence of mind to wash the thing.

"I'm giving you that because it's yours. Why the fuck did you give it to me in the first place?"