The day I wished the earth would open up.
So, a couple of days ago, I'm in a meeting with my executive director and a contract graphic designer. (A NEW designer, one who doesn't know me very well.) We are talking about branding and design and color and ideas. We are examining images, talking about cohesion, making progress.
Then, in the middle of the meeting, two of my crazy PR folks come to the door. No appointment, but that's usually no big deal. Oddly, they have a gift for me that they want to present. I thank them. They ask me to open the gift now. I look to my boss and the designer, not wanting to waste their time. PR friends insist. I open the gift, which is a huge martini glass with little palm trees on it. I comment that I will have to drink alot to use this glass. Smiling devilishly, they tell me that there's more in the gift bag. I reach in and pull out . . . a pink thong. In front of my boss. And an independent contractor that barely knows me.
Perhaps I should take this opportunity to address why two crazy PR people would show up at my office unannounced to give me unsolicited underwear. There is a drink at a bar that we have frequented called the "Pink Panty Pull Down." Now, I know that the name is ribald, but the drink is actually quite good. And I usually order it. Which provides my crazy PR friends with no small amount of enjoyment.
So, I stand there, holding the underwear, flustered. I'm sure that one of two things were happening. Either 1.) every bit of color was draining from my face or 2.) My cheeks were turning as rosy as the panties in my outstretched hand. I honestly did try to recover the situation. I tried to play it off. But, what on earth can you say in front of professional colleagues when friends drop by to give you intimate apparel in mixed company?
Needless to say, I am now searching my memory for everything remotely embarassing that I know about these two friends. I have plenty of ammunition; now, I only need to wait for the proper setting in which to exact my sweet revenge! Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Then, in the middle of the meeting, two of my crazy PR folks come to the door. No appointment, but that's usually no big deal. Oddly, they have a gift for me that they want to present. I thank them. They ask me to open the gift now. I look to my boss and the designer, not wanting to waste their time. PR friends insist. I open the gift, which is a huge martini glass with little palm trees on it. I comment that I will have to drink alot to use this glass. Smiling devilishly, they tell me that there's more in the gift bag. I reach in and pull out . . . a pink thong. In front of my boss. And an independent contractor that barely knows me.
Perhaps I should take this opportunity to address why two crazy PR people would show up at my office unannounced to give me unsolicited underwear. There is a drink at a bar that we have frequented called the "Pink Panty Pull Down." Now, I know that the name is ribald, but the drink is actually quite good. And I usually order it. Which provides my crazy PR friends with no small amount of enjoyment.
So, I stand there, holding the underwear, flustered. I'm sure that one of two things were happening. Either 1.) every bit of color was draining from my face or 2.) My cheeks were turning as rosy as the panties in my outstretched hand. I honestly did try to recover the situation. I tried to play it off. But, what on earth can you say in front of professional colleagues when friends drop by to give you intimate apparel in mixed company?
Needless to say, I am now searching my memory for everything remotely embarassing that I know about these two friends. I have plenty of ammunition; now, I only need to wait for the proper setting in which to exact my sweet revenge! Be afraid. Be very afraid.
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