Dark Knight

It's my turn to get my name.
Gabriel, my colleague, has long since taken on the task of assigning each of us a cartoon or fantasy character suited to our personality. My department does this every December at our greedy gift exchange. Gabriel named himself first : Batman, and on from there through my other colleagues.... Wonder Woman, Captain America, Porky Pig, the Energizer Bunny...
this year, I'm up.
I'm perversely excited because I am a bit of a pariah in my home unit... not exactly a model citizen. I'm hoping for a character appropriate to my mission.Greedy gifts done, paper and ribbon piled high, cutlery and food remains scattered over the table. Gabriel stands to his full 6'5" and the light from the window catches the shine on his magnificent bald head. He stands there, majestic, our dark knight. I say a small, silent prayer of thanks that he is not wearing lycra. He clears his throat.... the drum roll.
H......, you are Buttercup, queen of the powder puff girls.
My face feels like it is falling in on itself. I wish I was a cat... I would do that thing with my ears that cats do when they're pissed off. If my face were a hand, it would be a fist; if my face were a sky, it would be a thunder cloud. I'm horrified. How could he have made such a huge miscalculation?
I gaze at the expectant, happy faces. It's my chance to be grateful, and my joy is taking far too long.
Instead, I move my wrapping paper around the table; a ribbon falls and I lean over and pick it up. I fiddle with it, examining the lovely play of colour by the light of the window. I place it on the table next to my fork, and I gaze at my fork, weighing its potential as a weapon. I fold my hands in my lap and I look up, my forehead betraying my consternation.Gabriel knows. They all know.
I sigh.