The Entourage

me

All men need fluffing. It is a fact. You wander into work with a headache that the coffee has yet to work on. You face a day of processing. All it takes is one positive comment, a “hello, you look nice today,” from a female and the day looks better. The workday is now a chance to facilitate miracles. A cute, perky personal assistant taking notes and making phone calls would do fine -think Sarah Palin in her twenties with those glasses and beeeeeeeeee-hive! If I could, I would also have someone to attend entirely to my mood while providing physical labor -crack jokes, carry my laptop bag, make espresso, make lunch, and beat up people. Someone to be a caddy, a butler, a driver, a chef, and a batman (colonial English officers would have a loyal non-com assigned for life, called his batman). Some six foot tall Australian, ex-Special Air Services, with barista and Cordon Bleu training would be great -I think Tiger Woods has one of these. Some days, I wish I had a three women chorus in pink chiffon walking behind me alternately singing my praises and repeating what I say in three part harmony -Stefani, Aguilera, and Knowles would do just fine. I wish I could have my own trailer parked outside wherever I work so I could wander over and take in naps in the afternoon, enjoy a sauna, and a Swedish massage. At the end of my day, I would be deposited at home by this crew completely refreshed and able to help G with his homework, fix something, and listen well.

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