If for some reason they are being extremely gracious on the day I die, I'd like to go to that Philly Cream Cheese heaven. First thing I'd do is knock that annoying, curly-haired angel off her cloud and steal her man servant, Albert. I don't find him attractive or anything. I'd just like a little yard work done. Actually, what I'd really like, is a secretary.
I know, I know, we no longer have secretaries or stewardesses – we have administrative assistants and flight attendants – but I'd like a good, old-fashioned, sexist secretary/stewardess combo. And I'd like one, now.
This being Administrative Professional's week and all, I think it would be a great time for her to start. I say her, simply because women understand the needs of women better than men, and they can multitask. Ask a man to breast feed, put on lipstick, and drive at the same time and they wouldn't know where to begin.
My first choice in a secretary would be Moneypenny. Remember her? M's long suffering gal Friday who loved the pants off of James Bond and could type 200 words a minute. Right now she could be making coffee, then beds, then Jack's lunch. Then she could start on my taxes.
My next choice would be Mr. Drysdale's whipping post, Miss Hathaway. Jane was annoying, but she could wrangle the Clampett's and despite dressing like a lesbian, she did have a thing for Jethro. Jane was an efficient, task master. Right now, she could be walking the dogs and taking out the recycling.
No wonder men cheated on their wives, with secretaries, back in the good old days of 3 scotch power lunches and sexist workplaces. Back then, secretaries were paid to look nice and do whatever they were told. What simple minded fool could resist that temptation.
But, sigh, alas, I have neither Jane, nor Moneypenny and not even an Albert, so I must go. My boss is yelling for three Eggos with peanut butter and fake maple syrup – not burnt this time – and maybe some chocolate milk.
Is it Friday yet, gal Friday?
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