English Version: Dandelions in the Wind

36

Georgia furrowed her brow as she stared at the computer screen, the blue light reflecting off her glasses. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, tapping out corrections with a practiced efficiency. Once she had fixed the report, she immediately grabbed the mouse to save the document. The soft clicks of the keyboard and mouse filled the quiet room.

A faint knock sounded at the door, but Georgia, absorbed in her work, didn't notice it. The soft knock came again, more insistent this time, and Georgia finally glanced up from the screen. "Come in!" she called out, quickly returning her attention to the lines of text on the monitor.

The door creaked open, and Georgia's brow furrowed even more when Dionne, dressed in a tailored blazer and pencil skirt, entered the office. "I'm surprised you visited me in my office," Georgia said in disbelief.

Dionne, exuding an air of effortless sophistication, set down the designer bag she was carrying and gracefully seated herself on the sofa near Georgia's cluttered desk. "Your girlfriend, who also happens to be my assistant, is attending a seminar," she began, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle on her skirt. She leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs, her red stilettos glinting under the fluorescent lights. "Tracy asked me kindly if I could make sure you eat lunch because you forget basic human needs when working." Dionne sighed dramatically. "So yes, I'm here to babysit you." She elegantly yawned, her manicured fingers inspecting the perfect shine of her red nail polish.

Georgia couldn't help but laugh at what she heard, shaking her head in amusement. "And you volunteered? How kind of you to be my babysitter."

Dionne rolled her eyes, her expression one of exaggerated patience. "Don't flatter yourself. Tracy begged me to drag you out of your work cave and feed you. You've forgotten how to function as a human. Well, someone has to make sure you don't wither away into a workaholic skeleton." She stood up, the soft rustle of her clothes accompanying her movements, and walked over to Georgia's desk, placing her hands on her hips. "You're welcome, by the way," Dionne added with a hint of sarcasm.

"Ah, so you're here to be my personal lunch nagger. How charming." Georgia rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and continued typing on the keyboard.

"Think of me as your dietary fairy godmother, here to make sure you don't starve yourself," Dionne replied with a hint of sarcasm, flipping her long, perfectly styled hair over her shoulder.

"And here I thought fairy godmothers granted wishes, not lunchtime lectures," Georgia responded wearily, her eyes still glued to the screen. She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Why does your office look like a tornado hit it? Ever heard of a filing cabinet?" Dionne asked as she glanced around. Georgia's office was large and elegantly designed, with several abstract paintings hanging on the walls. The heavy, velvet curtains were drawn over the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, blocking the sunlight and casting a dim, cozy glow from the overhead lights. Papers were strewn across Georgia's large mahogany desk; even the sofa set had folders piled on it. "Seriously, Georgia, do you even remember what color your desk is?" Dionne inquired as she approached the desk, eyeing the scattered papers and folders.

"I think it's wood. Or maybe it's metal. Who knows? It's been a while since I've seen it," Georgia said, rubbing her forehead as if deep in thought. "I think my desk is made of glass? Not wood?" she added, pretending confusion and smiling slightly.

Dionne resisted the urge to tidy up the cluttered desk, crossing her arms instead. She bent down slightly, lifting papers as if searching for something underneath, her red stilettos clicking against the polished floor.

"What are you doing?" Georgia asked, puzzled, glancing up from her screen.

"I suppose there's no dead rat or insect buried in your paperwork?" Dionne asked, genuinely curious, pointing at the heap of papers on the desk. Her nose wrinkled in mock disgust.