02 Apr 2008 › 12:35pm
Claire’s new assistant has been calling an average of 8 times a day. Claire must be on her broom because I can hear (let’s just call her) Newblood fighting back the tears each time. She called to find out what the hell Claire was talking about when she asked for a “no calorie yummy”. She called because Claire told her to have 5 pairs of pants
hemmed “the length I like.” I could go on. Most times, there wasn’t a lot I could do but listen sympathetically. Claire’s smart as hell—which means she freshens up the crazy quite frequently to keep us on our toes. But there are a few constants. She likes her snacks, ultra-specific, yet extremely hard to find (quite possibly imaginary). She likes things to look a certain way at all times—a certain way that she will never ever describe. Ahhhh, memories.
At first I was more than willing to help—glad my experience in the trenches could finally benefit somebody. But that feeling quickly went away and was replaced by that used feeling you get when you stay up all night listening to a girl complain about her boyfriend who happens to have a big ole juicy beer gut (think with-child), and who also happens to constantly criticize her body. And then the next day, when you are trying to keep your sleep-deprived head off the keyboard at work—she calls to tell you they just got engaged. Do you know that feeling?
