Office girls; or, The Cruel Trick of the Universe

You only have to be in an office a few days before you run into the office flirt. Usually a young woman, somewhere between nineteen and twenty-five, not especially attractive, but cute. Generally a little on the heavy side, although she carries it well. Coincidentally, she is also engaged, or in a relationship so serious she's certain he'll propose any minute. This is what makes her a flirt. She's enjoying a sudden burst of confidence coming from her impending bride status. She's been the center of so much preparation, that she kind of believes she's really the center of everything for a while. And besides, she's free to play with every man she comes across because there's nothing at stake. She knows nothing's going to happen, and that's the way she likes it: a game where the move of the moment is all that's in the balance. A lower cut neckline, a shorter skirt, maybe leather, maybe plaid, all serve to enhance the play, but they mean nothing. She has, for a few short months, mastered the essence of flirting.

This is the cruel trick of the universe. On your deathbed, in the instant of your last breath, an angel sits on your pillow and tells you the secret of life.