Michael Bublé has been creeping up on me for a while now.
At first I didn’t notice when he started appearing in my Jack Johnson Pandora channel. Then he proceeded to carve out a spot next to Maroon 5 and I finally put a name with the voice. My curiosity was piqued when I found him taking up residence alongside Jem, but it wasn’t until he started to also edge in with Amos Lee that I realized something was amiss. While I’d been busy looking the other way, Bublé had infiltrated all of my playlists and taken over.
Suddenly he was everywhere! Any time I returned to my office I’d find him waiting there in the shadows, promising to give more than he got. He crooned on and on about love as I conferenced with coworkers and my boss. On long days when the sun sank low on the horizon as I sat hunched over my computer keyboard, he was there softly willing me to save the last dance for him. Taking advantage of my inattention, Bublé had become ever-present and he had no trouble reminding me how good he felt about it.
Today when I returned to my office I really did find Michael Bublé waiting there, frowning at me from my bookshelf.
Threatening me from my desk.
…and even springing out at me when I dared to seek a moment of quiet solitude in the women’s restroom.
Last year the office was overrun by crickets, but this year its apparent we’ve got a Bublé infestation. And quite frankly, I’m terrified.