| Chapter 4: Getting Ahead in Business |
| I simply abhor dispensing advice on visulaizing efficiency, so let us return to the so-called good stuff. There is no reason one shouldn't be able to navigate a liaison with one's boss with the same aplomb as an ordinary affair. First and foremost, be discreet. You don't want to make your coworkers hate your guts. And if you conduct your affair on the premises, I assure you they will. Personally, I always found it traumatic to attend campus newspaper meetings after learning that my editor had christened the table we sat at with her protege. It is also just because you are too lazy to pop by your place for a change of clothes. If sleeping with one's superiors is how all pert young things advance in your office (how lucky you are to live in Europe!), be sure your work is unimpugnable should the relationship sour. The real dilemma comes, however, when a boss or coworker rebuffs your advances. Perhaps you are at a conference and you call his or her hotel room and say, "There is a wedge of imported Brie on my stomach, and nothing would please me more than to have you savor it." And he or she responds, "Why are you being so weird?" It is difficult to imagine anyone being able to resist your charms or, for that matter, a good cheese course, but there is no accounting for taste. In such cases, it is best to pretend that your invitation (much like your offer to embroider ducks on his or her underpants) was meant platonically. After all, this is how things are done on the Continent, where, unlike your colleagues, you have spent a great deal of time. In fact, given the rich variety in cultural customs, whenever you make a so-called misstep you would do very well to toss it off with a distracted, "Oh, how odd. I must have picked that up somewhere in my travels...." |
| Chapter 5: Coming Out Into Society |
| Though I was not formally introduced to society, I know that ladies cross their legs at the ankle, not the knee. This timeline, however, deals with women who uncross their legs. For other women. Any resemblance to actual debutantes, living or dead, is purely coincidental. * One year before: Desist from dating, accepting engagement rings from and generally carrying on with male suitors. Allowing your parents to set you up with your uncle's law partner's son will only discredit your cause in the long term. Trim hair and nails. * Six months before: Introduce romantically ambiguous vagaries into everyday conversations ("Hetero sex: What a bore!"). Even if your family finds this level of graphic disclosure uncomfortable, it is the most graceful way to indicate that your needs bleed into the sapphic. Resole boots and have cobbler condition all leather belts and wallets. * Three months before: Embark upon an actual homosexual experience, if you haven't already. Oh, how we laughed at the "lesbians" in college who'd never kissed girls! Remember that your announcement may traumatize your grandmother. Therefore, you have no right to force strap-on into her lexicon until you've sealed the deal with a real girl. Darn socks and sweaters. * The day of: Speak simply. Explain that men are "not our kind." While your parents run out to buy one of those unspeakably banal "How to talk to your homosexual child" manuals, you can take five with your girlfriend, giggling with relief that the worst has passed. |
| Chapter 6: At Times of Loss and Grieving |
| Indeed death is terrible. But let us not trouble ourselves with the mortal passing of others for now. Especially when so many readers are slumped over their kitchen tables, wiping away tears with spaghetti-stained dishrags, over the untimely demise of a relationship. You may address a breakup letter using any off-color language you see fit, but writing to "John"-- unless that's actually his given name-- is embarrassingly uninspired. Should you feel compelled to enumerate everything that's wrong with him or her, be specific. Instead of "My needs aren't being met," explain that you detest listening to hour-long descriptions of last night's hald-hour sitcoms. Oh, and it is perfectly reasonable, when dumping someone, to make love to them one last time. If you encounter an ex at a restaurant or party, nod or stop by his or her table on your way out. Do not plop, as it were, down and say, "Are you going to eat that?" If your ex has already moved in with someone else, but you still can't resist the rather indecorous urge to reheat and rehash, address all correspondence to your departed lover on the first line and "in care of Ms. Mary Ward" on the line below. Should you feel childish as well as pathetic, misspell Mary's name. Anything more-- such as casually playing pickup sticks in front of their house for 18 hours a day-- would be rather excessive. And, dear reader, once you've cleared the air, you must never, ever speak of this again. |
| Other Humerous Pieces of Advice |
| At any gathering, it is essential that you invite someone who is deaf in one ear. Then seat whomever you have a crush on between you and the half-deaf guest, to better showcase your witty repartee. Naturally, you have slutty friends, and it's always fun to watch them interact with people with whom they've had embarrassing one-night stands-- just don't place them next to people they're no longer speaking to. Otherwise, it's simply too cruel. Together, couples are a bore, so it's better to separate them, especially if you think they're better suited to other guests. Place moneyed friends next to starving artists, particularly if you feel guilty about missing their last three performances staged in the Stop and Shop parking lot. When in doubt, invite weirdos and serve copious amounts of wine. Now bring on the Jell-O salad. Well-heeled oyster eaters who travel by way of chauffeured car are just as susceptible to losing their lunch as disgusting, drunken frat-head idiots. When vomiting in public, the key is to minimize its effects on those around you. Make use of all manner of handy receptacles: your linen napkin, chapeau, purse (nylon Prada bags are easiest to clean). If you are seated at a performance or on public transport, pretend to adjust your T-strap or smooth your stocking and let loose, as it were, below your seat, where no one will tread. |
|