You know, thank the lord that at some point in my life, at many points in my life, I was an assistant to a busy, rich man. Otherwise today I would be freaking out.
My boss isn’t here, the woman under my boss isn’t here and the Big Boss’ assistant isn’t here. So the Big Boss, who I like to impress, cause I like my job and I like my company and I’m impressed that he can handle billion dollar deals, has been asking for my help all afternoon. I have very little idea how to help him, but have an innate sense of what it is he might ask me for next. He just asked me for something and I intuited what it was and whipped right out. He’s probably not impressed, but I am. And of course he would have noticed if I hadn’t had it, and would have thought me a dolt. So now he may not think anything of me, but at least he doesn’t think I’m a dolt.
And our Christmas bonus’ are sitting on his chair, waiting, waiting. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a Christmas bonus in my life.
The goose is getting fatter, Christmas is coming for sure, and I cannot stop it, so I might as well play along.
My brother comes in next week, other brother comes in on Friday with his kids, one, my nephew, I’ve never met.
(Can you tell I’m experimenting with commas?)
I got a box of Godiva chocolates on my desk, from some attorney I barely know.
And tonight I go on a Christmas date with my hot man. Hackney’s for Hixx’s favorite cheeseburgers, then a stroll down to the weird German Christmas thing in Daley Plaza. We will buy our first ornament for our new fake Christmas tree.
Could be worse.
No comments:
Post a Comment