Reading through various workplace stories online this morning made me reflect on the peculiar phenomenon of office romances, particularly those of the illicit variety. The stories range from amusing mix-ups with high-vis shirts to rather awkward encounters in meeting rooms, bringing to mind several situations I’ve witnessed throughout my tech career.

Working in IT means spending countless hours in server rooms and rarely-accessed areas of office buildings. The number of times I’ve accidentally interrupted “private meetings” while doing routine maintenance checks is both amusing and concerning. There’s something about corporate environments that seems to spark these dangerous liaisons, despite the obvious risks to careers and relationships.

Reading through an online discussion today left me genuinely stunned. Someone shared a story about suspecting their friend had deliberately urinated in their car as an act of revenge. What made this situation even more distressing was that the person seeking advice was pregnant and suffering from morning sickness, making the cleanup process particularly challenging.

The whole scenario reminds me of a conversation I had with my teenage daughter recently about toxic friendships. We talked about how sometimes people can become so accustomed to destructive behavior that they start normalizing it. The victim’s comment that their friend “had done things like this before” particularly struck a chord - it’s a classic example of how we sometimes fail to recognize when relationships have crossed dangerous lines.

The message popped up on my screen this morning - a desperate plea from someone whose toddler had turned their mother-in-law’s beloved grey couch into an impromptu canvas using expensive eyeshadow palettes. Reading through the comments, memories of similar incidents with my own daughter came flooding back.

There’s something uniquely terrifying about discovering your child’s artistic endeavors on expensive furniture. The initial shock, followed by that sinking feeling in your stomach, and then the frantic Google searches for miracle solutions. Been there, done that, though in my case it was permanent markers on our leather recliner.

The internet has been having a field day with a hilarious post about someone lending their pristine Scrub Daddy sponge to their spouse, only to have it returned looking like it had gone ten rounds with a tar pit. The before-and-after photo is absolutely brutal - from a cheerful yellow cleaning companion to what looks like something excavated from an archaeological dig.

This resonates deeply with me. Just last week, my wife borrowed my carefully maintained kitchen knife to “quickly open a package.” Later, I found it lying in the garden, apparently recruited for some impromptu plant trimming. The marriage survived, but my trust in lending kitchen implements may never recover.