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Tuesday, April 7, 2009

We need some Miss Clairol up in here!

One of the guys in my office is doing interviews for a new assistant, so we've had a steady stream of applicants coming through since Friday. All of them seem nice and go out of their way to be friendly to me for some odd reason; I have no power or say over whether they get the job or not, but I guess they don't know that. Well, I shouldn't say that I have NO say, because the guy who's hiring is actually one of my only actual friends in the office, and is THE only person from the office with whom I spend time outside of work.

So, I already vetoed the ballerina chick who seemed WAY too anal and intense to be a good fit for this rag-tag bunch o' hooligans, and we mutually vetoed the mole woman who showed up 20 minutes late. Seriously - she looked like a Simpsons character; big eyes, mousy hair bobbed to her chin in a jagged cut that looked suspiciously like it had been done with a Flowbee, nondescript brown trench coat that went to her ankles... eesh.

Hmm, what was my point again? Oh YEAH. So one of these applicants was especially friendly and talkative. I'm just sitting here, discretely reading dlisted and checking my email, and she is just going on and on and on. Turns out she has two sons, as do I, but her sons are ages 16 and 19. So, I'm doing some math here (don't be alarmed by the burning smell... happens every time I work wit' numbas) and I realize that she is probably in her mid-40's. Which means she is only 10 years older than I am, thereabouts.

Dude. The woman has that "MOM" vibe like no one else. She has the short gray hairdo, the cardigan sweater, the pleasantly-plump physique.

NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT.

But, well, I don't think I'll be looking quite that matronly in 10 years, ya know? God, I hope not! I dress appropriately for my age, sure, but I really don't think I'm gonna step off the ledge into Frump Town, USA that early on...?

I hope. Or maybe I'm just kidding myself and I'm doomed to give in to the gray hair and whatnot. It's the whatnot that scares me.