Succeeding at Reception in 3 Sexy Steps

Laura came back to our apartment today. I was surprisingly thankful. There is only so much deep thought and reflection that one can subject themselves to. I’d spent the morning writing a series of poems about exotic vegetables or, to be more exact, a commentary on the essence of being. I’ll have to submit them somewhere ground-breaking. They will set the literary world’s proverbial knickers on fire.

Laura said she needed to dance her family out of her system. So we’re going to get drunk on paint-stripper vodka from Aldi and become one with the night.

Laura is wandering around in a t-shirt, that goes down to her knees, and clutching her hair as she chants “why have we no hair of the dog”. Her hair looks like something Medusa threw up. It was, to be exact, a wild night. I can tell by her hair and the fact that the left side of my face is incapable of movement. I’ve no actual memory of anything. We woke up sprawled on the living room floor and there is a poem written in lipstick across the kitchen wall.

It’s also New Year’s Eve, which means we are obliged to christen another night with the poetic expression of our souls.

I will not speak of last night. It began in champagne and ended in an epiphany. That is all that anyone needs to know.

I have taken the liberty of writing resolutions for several people in my life. The Chosen Ones have so far failed so badly at life, that I am gifting them my guidance. It is part of my poetic duty to guide people who think a simple diet will change everything. The only thing that will change everything is changing everything.

On Monday I become a receptionist at Mother’s company. I practiced phone voices today. I think I’ll go with the sexy cop voice. The sexy librarian voice just didn’t feel true to myself. It is important to always pretend to be someone that truly resembles some facet of your soul. And I would pretty much hand cuff most men to my bed.

I continued my preparations for life as a receptionist. I practiced typing subliminal dirty emails that will get me noticed for all the right reasons. I’m not naïve enough to think I’ll succeed with words typed per minute. Any monkey in a skirt can speed type.

Today I practiced filing things in a sexy way. This will be one of the most important aspects of my new career. Laura was very helpful and gave me several pointers. For instance, It’s all about the suck-in of the stomach as you crouch, otherwise you look like an accordion. The most enlightening was probably that your skirt must be short enough to be scandalous, but long enough to accommodate bending over.

I trialled the bending over technique in several of the nun skirts my mother dropped over. I think it was her idea of a peace offering. But all of these skirts say cat lady with a knitting problem and I want my outfit to say poet with a sexy problem.