I
stood on stage, dolled up like all the rest of the fake bitches lined
up next to me. Why had I agreed to this? Overtime, I had to keep
reminding myself. This may have been a charity function, but I damn
sure wasn't doing it for free. Still, standing under the hot overhead
lights that beamed down on us, being auctioned off like pieces of
meat, I was quickly beginning to regret my decision to play along.
The
annual Auction a Secretary for Charity party. It was the first time
my boss was able to participate—the first time her small PR
firm had made enough money to merit attending such an event.
When
she had pitched the idea to me, I cringed inside. “Why not ask
Charlise?” I quickly referred her to the perky
nineteen-year-old intern who had recently been hired. Now that girl
could make some real money for charity. Such a young pretty thing.
Why my boss wanted to send frumpy nearly thirty-year-old me was
beyond comprehension.
“ Charlise
isn't my secretary,” Mrs. Eddison reminded me.
“ We
could always pretend.” I tried not to look too enthusiastic
about the idea.
“ Come
on Mia, it will be fun,” she assured me. “You'll get to
get all dressed up and have your hair done and your nails done and
meet very rich men. Who knows, maybe you'll even land a wealthy
boyfriend.”
Not
likely, I thought. Even though it had been seven years since my nasty
divorce, I still pretty much hated men. All of them. Rich, poor,
attractive, ugly, smart, dumb. They were all worthless to me. Pretty
to look at, well, some of them at least, but not worth my time.
And
as for the hair and nails thing, she must not pay much attention to
me. I could count how many times I wore my hair in anything but a
ponytail on one hand. And the number of times I'd had my nails done
in my entire life was zero. I had never been a girlly girl. It just
wasn't my thing. Too much work.
If
Mrs. Eddison hadn't given me an allowance for such things, I never
would have had them done. Even after all the primping and pampering,
I still didn't feel much like a princess. In fact, the heat from the
lights above were making me feel a lot more like a melting wax
sculpture. The layers of makeup painted onto my face, oily and
uncomfortable, were already beginning to sweat off. My long black
hair, normally straight and lifeless, was starting to itch from the
heavy amount of hairspray that was necessary to keep it in the tight
curls the hairstylist had somehow managed. I could feel the bobby
pins that pulled it away from my face slowly slipping out of their
original positions. By the end of the night, I would look a mess. I
was sure of it.
Focusing
on my discomfort was the only thing keeping an anxiety attack at bay.
There I was, at least five years older than any of the other
secretaries, and the heaviest one by far. I was certain all the other
bosses had been smart enough to pick their most attractive employees.
There was no way all these girls were secretaries. The one to my
right looked like Malibu Barbie with shining blonde hair, big boobs,
and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. To my left was a girl
who could have easily been a super model. I wondered if Mrs. Eddison
now realized the mistake she had made by sending me instead of
Charlise.
The
announcer or speaker or whatever he was—the man who was going
to auction us off like cattle, took a stand at the podium and began
his long drawn-out speech, thanking the guests for coming, talking
about the history of the auction, and what charities it benefited. I
was busy staring out into the crowd, feeling too embarrassed for even
being there to listen to any of it. I could already imagine that I
would bring in the least amount of money. It was the same sick
feeling I got in grade school, knowing that I would be the last to be
picked for any of the sports teams because no one thought I would be
good enough. My eyes prematurely began to water, and I felt a strong
urge to leave the stage. That wasn't an option
stood on stage, dolled up like all the rest of the fake bitches lined
up next to me. Why had I agreed to this? Overtime, I had to keep
reminding myself. This may have been a charity function, but I damn
sure wasn't doing it for free. Still, standing under the hot overhead
lights that beamed down on us, being auctioned off like pieces of
meat, I was quickly beginning to regret my decision to play along.
The
annual Auction a Secretary for Charity party. It was the first time
my boss was able to participate—the first time her small PR
firm had made enough money to merit attending such an event.
When
she had pitched the idea to me, I cringed inside. “Why not ask
Charlise?” I quickly referred her to the perky
nineteen-year-old intern who had recently been hired. Now that girl
could make some real money for charity. Such a young pretty thing.
Why my boss wanted to send frumpy nearly thirty-year-old me was
beyond comprehension.
“ Charlise
isn't my secretary,” Mrs. Eddison reminded me.
“ We
could always pretend.” I tried not to look too enthusiastic
about the idea.
“ Come
on Mia, it will be fun,” she assured me. “You'll get to
get all dressed up and have your hair done and your nails done and
meet very rich men. Who knows, maybe you'll even land a wealthy
boyfriend.”
Not
likely, I thought. Even though it had been seven years since my nasty
divorce, I still pretty much hated men. All of them. Rich, poor,
attractive, ugly, smart, dumb. They were all worthless to me. Pretty
to look at, well, some of them at least, but not worth my time.
And
as for the hair and nails thing, she must not pay much attention to
me. I could count how many times I wore my hair in anything but a
ponytail on one hand. And the number of times I'd had my nails done
in my entire life was zero. I had never been a girlly girl. It just
wasn't my thing. Too much work.
If
Mrs. Eddison hadn't given me an allowance for such things, I never
would have had them done. Even after all the primping and pampering,
I still didn't feel much like a princess. In fact, the heat from the
lights above were making me feel a lot more like a melting wax
sculpture. The layers of makeup painted onto my face, oily and
uncomfortable, were already beginning to sweat off. My long black
hair, normally straight and lifeless, was starting to itch from the
heavy amount of hairspray that was necessary to keep it in the tight
curls the hairstylist had somehow managed. I could feel the bobby
pins that pulled it away from my face slowly slipping out of their
original positions. By the end of the night, I would look a mess. I
was sure of it.
Focusing
on my discomfort was the only thing keeping an anxiety attack at bay.
There I was, at least five years older than any of the other
secretaries, and the heaviest one by far. I was certain all the other
bosses had been smart enough to pick their most attractive employees.
There was no way all these girls were secretaries. The one to my
right looked like Malibu Barbie with shining blonde hair, big boobs,
and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. To my left was a girl
who could have easily been a super model. I wondered if Mrs. Eddison
now realized the mistake she had made by sending me instead of
Charlise.
The
announcer or speaker or whatever he was—the man who was going
to auction us off like cattle, took a stand at the podium and began
his long drawn-out speech, thanking the guests for coming, talking
about the history of the auction, and what charities it benefited. I
was busy staring out into the crowd, feeling too embarrassed for even
being there to listen to any of it. I could already imagine that I
would bring in the least amount of money. It was the same sick
feeling I got in grade school, knowing that I would be the last to be
picked for any of the sports teams because no one thought I would be
good enough. My eyes prematurely began to water, and I felt a strong
urge to leave the stage. That wasn't an option
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