For some reason the cultural norm here is for professional women from young adulthood all the way to upper middle age to speak like Chihuahuas when addressing authority. Specifically male authority, of which most authority round here is of the betesticled variety. So far no one has demanded that I do my best impression of Kyary Pyamu Pyamu auditioning for a porno. Thank fuck for that. But just listening to it… ugh. It elicits this Pavlovian eye-twitch response in me.
It would actually be easier to deal with if my colleagues were a lot of heinous über-bitches, but they aren’t. Honestly, they’re lovely people. So that makes the hypothetical conversation even more ridiculous. “Oh no, no, Yuko. It’s not that I dislike you, far from it. It’s just that I want to rip the phone receiver out of your hand and smack you upside the head with it every time you use it. Nothing personal.”