August 29, 2008
I have a meeting in an hour where I have to present market research to six men who are all at least twice my age. As far as I know, one is a former politician and another sits on the board of some company somewhere.
I should mention--I'm not totally clear about what "market research" actually is.
I'd like to venture a guess that a lot of twenty-somethingish women would be intimidated by a situation like this--but not me. All I can do is fart around on my blog and think, "Oh my crap, I am so hungry. I wish I had some chicken."
I really should be preparing. You know--putting forth some inkling of professional effort to protect myself from all out humiliation. But no, I'm not. Instead, I'm sitting here telling myself that as long as I can avoid, 1) excessive use of the word "um," 2) passing loud and/or stinky gas, and 3) letting a boob flop out of my blouse, then I should be totally fine.
I know what you're thinking..."But Amy, wouldn't the boob floppage give you a significant advantage in the situation like this?"
You know--I think it would push me a step ahead in some major metropolitan areas, but certainly not in this neck of the woods. These men are Mainers--they would be far happier to see a six-pack of Budweiser, a .22 rifle, and a small mouth bass roll onto the table than a useless old set of knockers.
After all, even the most bodacious of taa-taas are attached to women. And women like to nag.
With that pearl of wisdom, I will button my shirt up to my chin and head out for my presentation.
Wish me luck! And I hope you all have a fun filled, traffic-free long weekend.