I perfectly choreographed my day today. Up at 4:30 a.m. Swim. Qi Gong in steam room (and pray to God that no one comes in to witness). Sauna. Shower. Drive to Albany. Conference call. Four hour meeting. Drive home. Girls' night out.
Nagging feeling. Gosh, what am I forgetting?
Oh, to pack a bra and underwear in my gym bag?! What the . . . ?
With no time to drive home but with the need to stand in front of a conference room of men and only men (i.e., no confidante) wearing a skirt, I did what any reasonable woman who doesn't want her cooch to be the focal point of a meeting would do: I wore another (dry) bathing suit under my suit.
It doesn't get much better than this.
Showing posts with label professionalism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label professionalism. Show all posts
Friday, May 14, 2010
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Bad Day: #5
One of my clients intentionally uses sex appeal as a tool to bring in new business. As a result, she is always getting hit on and combating "unwanted" advances. My boss and I were talking about her unconventional tactics and how, conversely, we're never hit on -- which, clearly, is a good thing.
Then I remembered a nightmare of an afternoon that happened a few years ago. I was working at a client site when the short, chubby, red headed, white eyelash/eyebrowed (and married with children) VP of Sales said to me, "The guys and I were out drinking last night and we all agree, you're a MILF."
I stupidly didn't know the term at the time so I asked, "What's a MILF?"
He responded by whispering "A mother I would love to . . . " and mouthing the last word.
I could have crawled under a rug. Instead, I said, "Sheesh, wait till I tell my husband that one!" Then I bolted back to my office in their facility and sat with my hands on my keyboard completely unable to type. I'm not sure if I've ever turned brick red but I was mortified enough that it felt like my face was burning.
He came in a minute later and apologized.
When I got home that night, the hubby was unfazed. "He meant it as a compliment." As much as I understood that logically, it felt ridiculously unprofessional (to say the least). With a few years between me and that incident, I now agree that I was overreacting. I never want a client to say anything like that to me again but worse things can happen in life.
A few months ago I went out to dinner with a friend who, at the time, was dating a 50 year old woman who has grandchildren. He said to me, "At what point did I stop dating MILFs and move on to GILFs?"
I guess that's the silver lining: at least I'm not a GILF. But, when I do hit the golden age of GILF, I'm guessing it's better to be a GILF than not . . .
Then I remembered a nightmare of an afternoon that happened a few years ago. I was working at a client site when the short, chubby, red headed, white eyelash/eyebrowed (and married with children) VP of Sales said to me, "The guys and I were out drinking last night and we all agree, you're a MILF."
I stupidly didn't know the term at the time so I asked, "What's a MILF?"
He responded by whispering "A mother I would love to . . . " and mouthing the last word.
I could have crawled under a rug. Instead, I said, "Sheesh, wait till I tell my husband that one!" Then I bolted back to my office in their facility and sat with my hands on my keyboard completely unable to type. I'm not sure if I've ever turned brick red but I was mortified enough that it felt like my face was burning.
He came in a minute later and apologized.
When I got home that night, the hubby was unfazed. "He meant it as a compliment." As much as I understood that logically, it felt ridiculously unprofessional (to say the least). With a few years between me and that incident, I now agree that I was overreacting. I never want a client to say anything like that to me again but worse things can happen in life.
A few months ago I went out to dinner with a friend who, at the time, was dating a 50 year old woman who has grandchildren. He said to me, "At what point did I stop dating MILFs and move on to GILFs?"
I guess that's the silver lining: at least I'm not a GILF. But, when I do hit the golden age of GILF, I'm guessing it's better to be a GILF than not . . .
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