It's the opposite of

My hair was a mess
Lunchtime rode in
On well-oiled wheels
And left with a squeak
As I gulped down a meal

The boss spun lies
Like myriad webs
Each half-truth
Tripping over itself
In its eagerness to be out
I could forgive him
If not for the yellowing stain
Of cream bun on satin
A match for his yellowing smile.

I was up to my eyeballs
In ambivilent paper
Happy to sit there all day
But forcing work all the same.

She wasn't half bad, today
As she sashayed
Through the closing door
And into the meeting
Bang on time.
If I had her looks
There's no way
I'd ever be anything but.