This just in! A negotiation letter from my fictitious assistant.
Dear Whitney, (I am no longer going to call you Miss Whitney if I come back to work for you. You are NOT Scarlett O’Hara and I am not your servant.) Here is what you have to do in order to continue to employ me:
1. Stop calling me Babette. My name is Barb. Not Babs, not Betty, Barb.
2. Please quit asking me to meet you “poolside” for our morning meeting. A 36″ plastic pool from Rite Aid, is not and never will be “poolside.”
3. It is the fictitious gardener’s job to clean out the chicken coop, not mine.
4. I am not French nor do I know French so please quit asking me for the French translation of random words you think of. I do not know.
5. You have got to stop asking me about my dating life and then writing about it.
6. You may no longer pay me in baked goods. I cannot pay my bills with chocolate chip cookies no matter how good they are.
7. I will no longer listen to you blather on about the best manure to use in your garden. Again, that is Henry, the fictitious gardener’s job, not mine.
8. I will no longer help you locate chin hair to pluck.
Please agree to my terms in writing or you will never hear from me again.