Brenda Thought She Got Away With Creamer Theft. Her COLON Disagreed.

Brenda from accounting? Yeah, she learned the hard way what happens when you mess with my coffee creamer. Seriously, every damn week. I buy my good vanilla almond milk creamer, put my name on it, put it in the breakroom fridge. By Wednesday, it's gone. Every. Single. Time. And the empty carton? Always left there like a taunt. I even saw her pouring it once, like, she looked me dead in the eye, smirked, and went back to her coffee. The nerve. It's six bucks a bottle, and it's the only one I actually like. GOD it pissed me off. I thought about putting something gross in it. Like, hot sauce. But that’s too obvious. Too much. Then it hit me. Something harmless. Something *helpful*, even. So, I got a new bottle. Wrote "MY CREMERA" on it in big sharpie letters. Then, I went to the pharmacy and bought some unflavored sugar-free Metamucil. You know, the kind that just dissolves. Back in the office kitchen, I poured out maybe a third of the creamer, then stirred in a couple of heaping scoops of the Metamucil. Stirred it until it was completely dissolved, no lumps. Looked exactly like regular creamer. Put it back in the fridge. The next morning, I watched her. Brenda struts in, grabs "my" creamer, pours a generous amount. Takes a big sip. Her face. Oh my god, her face. It wasn't disgust, it was more like... confusion. Like something was *off* but she couldn't place it. She finished her coffee, but you could tell she wasn't enjoying it. Later that day, the bathroom trips started. Multiple times. Fast-forward to the next week? She brought her *own* creamer. A cheap, nasty powdered one, but it was hers. And my creamer? Totally safe now. Never touched again. I just sipped my *actual* vanilla almond milk creamer and smiled. Some lessons are best learned via gut flora.