I'm the only girl at my work who is unmarried and under thirty, so, because of the utter lack of competition, I'm the cute secretary in the office. The guys all call me for advice on fashion advice + wedding anniversaries + menu plans. They trust me with their drama, they come to me when they need reassurance, they take breaks at my desk.
Now.
I have one arch-enemy, and she comes around twice a year and treads on my territory. I am going to call her Stella here, because it sounds kind of like the word "stellar," which is funny, because she's not.
She's completely average.
She has average weight, height, boobs, backside, and hair. She's basically the most unmemorable little lady you've ever met. She sells cleaning supplies for my building, and she comes around twice a year to make sure that everyone is stocked up on things like ODOR-B-GONE, and BRIGHTER BOWL CLEANER.
Most
unsexy
products
ever
sold.
AND YET. When Stella walks in the door, the guys in my building go crazy. They all crowd around her, they turn into silly giggling tongue-tied high-schoolers, and they are all convinced that SHE IS BASICALLY READY TO ABANDON EVERYTHING SHE HAS EVER KNOWN AND GO HOME WITH THEM THAT NIGHT. And when she leaves, she carries receipts with her after making all sorts of financial transactions that the guys at my work would not have made with anyone else.
Stella is happily married, which I know because she talks to me when the work boys aren't around. "Oh, guess what?" she told me, on my last visit, "I had put on five pounds and I was being really high maintenance and stuff, so I was wondering if I still, you know, HAD WHAT IT TOOK with my husband, so I thought of a foolproof plan."
Yay, Stella! Set up a test to see if your husband likes you!
"I asked him if I could borrow his sports car, and I deliberately crashed into a traffic meridian. Completely totaled it."
See? FOOLPROOF.
"He was so nice to me......even after I totally flirted with the cop who responded....and after I told him that I did it just to make sure that he still loved me."
Umm, who is this woman? And, perhaps more importantly, WHO IS THIS MAN?
In light of her highly functional relationship with her husband, I know that Stella is not really into any of the guys at work. She's just really good at flirting. She drops her keys and bends over in compromising positions. She deliberately steps out of her way to run her hand down some guy's arm, like she's the one woman in the world who can't wear heels without needing an arm to steady her. She giggles ferociously, and she tells everybody, secretly, "Ohh, next time I'm here we need to get lunch!" so they melt into a puddle and afterwards secretly confide in me that I THINK STELLA IS SERIOUSLY INTO ME AND SHE KIND OF ASKED ME OUT ON A DATE.
Yesterday was particularly bad. She showed up wearing some assemblage of skimpy clothing items, did not appear to be wearing a sufficient bra, and had a flower in her hair. I could not stop her from talking to my people, so I reluctantly let her in, and within five minutes I went back to check on her and she was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Stella?" I asked the men at work.
"We're watching her purse," said one man, pointing to a chair where a small purse was sitting.
"Where's she gone that she can't take her purse?"
Nobody knew.
She had captivated them, given them a small token by which to remember her, and then disappeared somewhere in the hallway.
I was angry, because I really respect the men at work. I respect their marriages. I could bend over in compromising positions and make it difficult for them to concentrate on their work. I could slide my cute little hand down their arm and giggle uncontrollably when they say something that isn't funny, and whisper stories that they have to lean forward to hear. And I could make them pay for my lunches. But I don't, because I'm a pretty good girl, and because they have wives who don't worry when they send their husbands to work with me. I sighed a little, and the guys at work said, "Why do you hate Stella so much? She's the best."
Yes, yes; Stella is the best.
I went back to my desk, and let her be, and then smiled politely after she left when the boys boasted about their encounters with her, and strategized about how they would have cologne at the ready the next time she showed up.
I am responsible for the care and upkeep of these men every day, but Stella comes just twice a year, walking boldly through the hallways, stealing hearts to sell two hundred bucks in toilet bowl cleaner.
