Please don't comment about what I'm eating for lunch. I've killed people for less.

I don't know about you, but when I'm eating lunch, I'd like to be left the motherfuck alone. I cursed there to emphasize the point. I italicized to emphasize the cursing. Stay with me.

Here's what I don't need:

SAC or Heinous Bitch coworker (you have yet to be formally inroduced to her): Ooooh, what did you get for lunch, Nameless Vagina?

Me: Mumble mumble whatever mumble.

Coworker: Look everyone! Nameless Vagina has fancy stuff for lunch! Everyone come stare at her while she eats!

Me: Fuck. You. (Said in my head so as not to piss everyone off)

I hate to be stared at while I eat. I don't want to have a ten minute discussion about the barbecue I picked up for lunch (Which will never. Happen. Again.). I don't need you to tell me that my sushi looks amazing (Because, yes, it does. That's why I'm eating it...). I don't actually want to talk to you about my food at all. I just want to eat it. In PEACE.

So now, to avoid this little scenario, I've taken to hiding my food under my desk whenever I hear anyone coming. I feel like a fat girl with a can of frosting. Like Goldie Hawn in Death Becomes Her.

I totally love that movie. Shut up.

Another interesting pattern that seems to have developed in the office is the Everyone crowd around Nameless Vagina's desk while she's trying to eat her lunch extravaganza. WTF?

I'm trying to eat lunch here, people. Typically, this is seen as a break, not as the time in which I'd like to hear you blather on awkwardly about your weekend.

Here's the thing: I don't care. I don't care about your weekend. I don't care about your wife. I don't care about what you got from NetFlix yesterday. I don't care to stare at you armpit hairs while I am eating my lunch. Or any other time for that matter.

Get out of my face. Leave me alone.