You've seen The Notebook. Yea this love story is something like that. There is no alcohol induced flirting or late night booty calls. My summer love is black, metal, and about five inches tall. I've spent so many hours at work scanning and stapling files that the connection I've formed with the old Swingline stapler is on another level. Leaving him at five o'clock is much harder than it should be and some co-workers are becoming suspicious of this frowned upon office romance. I mean at first we were just friends, because the stapler knew that the fax machine had a crush on me, and since they were friends, he tried to suppress his feelings. But then there was a change. Swingline kept getting short and annoyed with me, he'd jam every other staple, making me poke and prod his insides to unjam the pieces. Fortunately the honeymoon stage was smooth sailing. I would plug my ipod in, give each of us one headphone, and I'd scan and staple for hours on end as we both belted out Taylor Swift lyrics on repeat. But then we realized our bond was only at work. His social awkwardness and lack of legs meant we could never both leave during my lunch break and on weekends I would shamelessly forget about my office affair and leave the promise ring made out of two intertwined staples he gave me at home...
Wait...which insane asylum shall I choose?
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