Introducing Ms. Perfect…

Hello dahlins!  Tonight’s post is actually something I wrote many years ago when I was doing some consulting work out of town.  I was bored at night at the hotel and had emailed it to my husband.  We discovered it a few days ago when we were searching for something else.  We laughed so much at how silly the whole thing was that I thought you might get a kick out of it as well.  It is meant strictly for entertainment value, and I assure you, is not as malicious as it sounds.  Happy reading!

She’s the perky, super-mom type.  She has a great figure, an extensive wardrobe, and she’s probably never had a bad hair day in her life.  All of her children are perfect.  They get good grades, say “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am” and all of their clothes fit perfectly.  Her husband is God’s greatest gift to women.  He’s tall and handsome, has a six-figure income and he helps with the housework.  Sound familiar?  She’s “Ms. Perfect.”  If you don’t know where to find her, try checking the cubicle next to mine.  I promise you that’s where she sits every weekday of her life and it’s everything I can do to get through the day without wishing she’d trip on her high heels and break that pretty little neck of hers!

I’m sorry.  I really don’t mean to be like that.  It’s just that all that perfection gets old after a while.  Her phone rings and it’s one of the kids.  They’re calling to say they love her no doubt or to let her know that they’ll be happy to run to the market for her if she’d like.  Later her husband calls to say don’t even worry about dinner because he got a promotion and he’s taking the whole family out to celebrate!  Isn’t that wonderful?  I think I just threw up a little…

I can’t help but overhear her always pleasant conversations with her family members and friends.  She talks loudly because she WANTS me to hear.  Her voice drips with more sugar than a Krispy Kreme donut, but to me it’s like fingernails on a chalkboard… long fingernails on a very dry chalkboard.

So, why I am bothered by this perfect specimen of a working woman?  Because she doesn’t like me and in my world, EVERYONE has to like me!  In fact, they not only have to like me, they have to LOVE me!!  And in the rare event that they don’t love me or even like me, it makes me crazy to have to listen to them being nice to everyone else all day long.

If you’re wondering WHY she doesn’t like me, all I can tell you is that it’s one of those work things.  You know what I’m talking about.  The kind you can’t quite put your finger on.  You’ve done everything in your power to accommodate this person, help when they need it, offer them coffee when you’ve just made a fresh pot, etc., etc., and they just decide they’re not going to like you.  Most people tell me she’s jealous.  Jealous of what?  She’s Ms. Perfect.  I come in a sloppy second to her.

I’m beginning to understand it, I think.  It must be very hard work being her.  I think back to a time when I was almost as perfect as her (well, not really, but let’s just say that things were going pretty well for me).  If I remember correctly, those were the most miserable eight minutes of my life!  ; )   So much pressure!  So much stress!  It’s no wonder she’s jealous of me!  I am happy, and she is PERFECTLY miserable.  Awe… somebody find me one of those tiny violins so I can play a song for her.  Sniff sniff…

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