Malevolent Hand-Eye Coordination Mach I
So I’m interviewing the owner of the hotel that was last year voted the best in the world. But I’m up to it. I’m prepared, professional, wearing a black skirt and light blue blouse, every hair as in place as it can be. No open zips, no underwear showing, I am as groomed as I get. HA, Malevolent Wardrobe Fairy, take that! And my brain starts thinking, “You know, all this calm elegant professionalism isn’t really me.” So my helpful hand slops my mocha. Onto my notes, my lap and the white couch. And as the coffee soaks through my skirt I think “Ah, that’s better.”
Being, of course, a complete pro at spilling things on myself, I know what to do. As my interviewee shrieks for a napkin I wave my (wet) hand airily. “Oh, it’s fine.” I tip the coffee off my notes into my lap, blot the notebook with the napkin under my cup, and shift myself so my skirt soaks up the stain on the couch. I keep talking as if nothing’s happened and she forgets about it. I, however, still have drips of coffee on my fingers. Now let me tell you, to look calm and detached while taking notes, asking intelligent questions and wiping coffee onto your skirt all at the same time takes talent. And it’s not like the skirt was my favourite or anything. It was only my second-favourite high-waisted skirt that makes me look nine feet tall and that I love with a passion only equalled by my infatuation with The Skirt That Cried Wolf. The really great news is that as I left the hotel I noticed that the MWF had been there all along - there was a string hanging off my hem, which had fallen down on one side. You need style, elegance, and grooming? I got it to burn.
Being, of course, a complete pro at spilling things on myself, I know what to do. As my interviewee shrieks for a napkin I wave my (wet) hand airily. “Oh, it’s fine.” I tip the coffee off my notes into my lap, blot the notebook with the napkin under my cup, and shift myself so my skirt soaks up the stain on the couch. I keep talking as if nothing’s happened and she forgets about it. I, however, still have drips of coffee on my fingers. Now let me tell you, to look calm and detached while taking notes, asking intelligent questions and wiping coffee onto your skirt all at the same time takes talent. And it’s not like the skirt was my favourite or anything. It was only my second-favourite high-waisted skirt that makes me look nine feet tall and that I love with a passion only equalled by my infatuation with The Skirt That Cried Wolf. The really great news is that as I left the hotel I noticed that the MWF had been there all along - there was a string hanging off my hem, which had fallen down on one side. You need style, elegance, and grooming? I got it to burn.