I ignore her and continue. “And it isn’t that I’m a big kahuna or tell his employees what to do,” I say. “But it’s more like I’m the gatekeeper. I maintain his complicated schedule. Between football and his business ventures, things can get complicated, so he prefers for people to go through me to get to him. My daily grind is making sure that I don’t muck up his day. I have to triple check dates, times, and orders.”
“Sounds like the perfect job to me, especially because you’re good as hell at it. I know you didn’t grow up saying you’d make a kick-ass executive assistant one day, but here you are, doing the damn thing.”
“And doing it well!”
“Yep, if you don’t want that job then I’ll take it. It beats working at the post office.”
“There’s no perfect job, Monica.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. We’re basically in agreement. Why are you searching for something that doesn’t exist when you’ve got a sweet gig already?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my job, per se, other than the fact that my boss has the inability to think about anyone other than himself, but that’s not really the point. I could live with that if I really wanted to. What I’m actually saying is that it’s the only real job I’ve ever had. The only thing I’ve done since college. I want to try something else. Explore my options and maybe find my passion.”
“Passion?”
“Puh-lease … passion is overrated.”
“And are you going to just hop from dead end job to dead end job trying to find yourself? What do you mean exactly by exploring your options and finding your passion?”
Carla is the oldest and sometimes flip flops between acting like my sister and acting like my mother. She’s questioned every big decision I’ve ever made, and I am always seeking her approval.
“Yeah, sis, we don’t get it. You work for a gorgeous man. A football player. A self-made billionaire. What better options are there?” Monica agrees.
“I want to do something else. Something different,” I say emphatically, frustrated that they aren’t telling me what a great decision I’ve made. “Something unlike what I’m doing.”
“Unlike working for agod?”
“Working for a narcissist,” I correct Monica.
“You mean working for those washboard abs and those tree trunk legs.”
“And that butt!”
“Ugh, you guys are hopeless and gross.”
“Oh, and don’t forget about that killer smile of his.”
“And that laugh. What about his laugh?”
“Oh, right. His teeth are the perfect shade of arctic white. I bet he gets them professionally bleached, doesn’t he, Ursula?”
“As if I’d tell either of you,” I say finally getting a word in edgewise.
“Why not? Inquiring minds want to know.”
“Would you two stop it?” I chastise. “You are the main people in my life who always complain that I never have any time for anything.”
“We said that?” they ask in unison.
“Yes, you.” I point directly at them. “Monica, you always say I’m a disgrace to millennials everywhere, because I can’t hang out for a drink on a random Thursday night with you.”
“She’s right. You never give anyone any notice, and you do always want to do something on a Thursday,” Carla chimes in. “It’s weird.”
“And Carla, you’ve been passive aggressively threatening me with that baby inside of your tummy since it’s conception. What was the last thing you said? Something about how you hope the baby will be able to recognize my face since I never come over to your house.”
“Ooh that’s true. You do say that, Carla.”
“Babies need repetition to recognize faces,” Carla declares. “That’s just the facts.”
