Diary of a MILF in Progress

Clarity is not my strong suit

After my last few posts, my email yielded a number of cautionary messages about how my flirting with Casey seemed to be getting out of hand, and that I had really crossed a line that I wouldn't be able to back away from, and that sort of thing.

"Wow," I thought to myself. "This is a bit more vehement that what I would have expected. Funny that I would get so many more warnings now than what I was getting when things were even more heated last year..."

Than it dawned on me. The "Smoky" post. The quotes. Not everyone has the psychotic recall of Aaron Sorkin sitcoms that I have.

I'm not that Dana Whitaker, not for real. I liked the character, that mix of take-charge attitude with just enough neurotic self-doubt to keep her from being too good to be true. And my Casey doesn't even know that he's "Casey," just like "Dan" and "Isaac" and "Natalie" don't match up with the characters who are their namesakes. I just liked using more names from the show.

Truth be told, the bulk of my interaction with my Casey in the past few weeks has consisted of passing each other in the hallway as one or both of us ran to a meeting. There's barely been eye contact, much less behavior that is damaging to my marriage. I think he patted me on the arm as he passed behind me when I was at the copy machine outside of his office, but I can't swear that for sure.

And, as I start gearing up for the fall conference, it seems quite apparent that neither of us intends to actually follow through with where we left off a year ago. That ship has long since passed.

There but for the grace of God go I...

I guess I need to stop kidding myself and admit that I am playing with fire. What seems thrilling right now, is very quickly going to be very bad idea, I think.

I need to give thanks to a total stranger for giving me my overdue wake-up call.

Smoky

Casey, I'm saying flirt with me, I'm not playing somebody else.[snip] Flirt with me. Tell me why you like me better than Sally.
I do like you better than Sally.
Tell me why.
I don't understand...
I don't think you're ever going to have sex again. I've got to go.

You're smoky.

I'm sorry?
The difference between you and Sally- you're smoky.
I'm...smoky?
You're smoky. You're a lot of other things, too, but you're smoky.
I don't know what that means, but I like the sound of it. Tell me what it means.
ah, It's hard to translate...
Try.
You'll make a joke.
We're flirting, it's OK.
Are we really flirting or is this you pretending to be you, flirting with me actually being me?
You think I'm smoky?
Classy...impressive...sexy...was sexy going too far?
I-i-it was fine.
(smiling) You're...smoky.

Sports Night, season 1, episode 12- Smoky

I have a favor to ask of you, my readers (all two of you.) I am trying to figure out what is sexy. There's a fine line between sexy and slutty. There are elements of "innocence" that are anything but innocent. There are the Sally Sassers of the world, the nineteen foot tall women whose bodies were put together by technicians very close to God, women whose legs go aaaaall the way to the floor. I can't compete with that.

Yet I hold out hope. I strive for whether I can be smoky. Help me out, guys. What is "smoky"? Is the implication as alluring as putting it all out on the line? What is the appeal in seeing us wear your white dress shirt? What is hotter- a plunging neckline, or the knowledge that there is a lacy bra underneath a business-like suit? Is crossing into traditionally male territory- the cigar smoking, the scotch sipping, the knowledge of power tools, a rabid interest in contact sports- a turn-on or an indication that we are not womanly enough to be attracted to?

Let me into your brains, my friends, and help this girl to understand!!

The Husband should be quite grateful

I got dressed this morning with the idea tickling the back of my mind that most of the boys were not on travel, and that I didn't have any meetings tying me to being at a certain place at a certain time, which leads to a maximum amount of interaction at the office and chances to chat.

My mock-wrap jersey dress was clean, and the unpredictable nature of the weather this week made it a good choice. Because the recent rain has resulted in a cooler day today, I opted not to go bare-legged and I chose closed-toe shoes. Since I was running a bit late, I hadn't had a chance to wash and blowdry my hair, so I spruced it up with a curling iron.

As I stopped into Nancy's desk to see if she wanted anything from the cafe when I went to get my morning chai, one of our VP's was leaving the boss' office.

"Very nice," he said, appraising my headband, the cut of the dress, and my high heels all in one sweeping glance. I may have batted my eyes slightly when I thanked him for the compliment.

Later, I stopped in to say hello to Isaac.

"Your hair looks different," he said, pondering.

"I curled it," I explained, "nothing elaborate." So we chatted for a few minutes, then I went on my merry way. And I made sure Isaac had a chance to see that I had hosiery, just in case he felt the need to speculate about thigh-highs.
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After lunch, I poked my head into Dan's office.

"Just saying 'hi.' I'm just being neighborly, and I saw Isaac earlier. I didn't want to be accused of playing favorites by checking in on him, but not on you."

"No offense taken," Dan assured me. "Seriously, it's not big deal if Isaac is your favorite."

"Honestly, I've been accused of favoritism before!" I told him. "Although who my favorite member of the-sales...marketing...customer mangement...whatever-team you all call yourselves these days seems to change. I think it's your turn, actually."

"Alright!" Dan smiled, "Let the rumors fly."
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A few minutes ago, I saw one of the technical guys, and he waved me into his office to indicate that he was almost done with his phone call.

"Hello, dahling," he vamped. "You look fabulous today, by the way." Totally unsolicited compliments! My favorite kind! We talked of the emergency evacuation earlier in the week (false alarm) and how our jobs drive us crazy with the "hurry up and wait" aspects.

"Hey, how are things looking for the fall conference?" he asked.

"They are looking just fine," I replied.

"So, you are indeed going?" he asked. "I want to have fun in Florida, so I need to know that you are going to Florida."

"Of course I am going to Florida. I have to go to the fall conference every year; the committee meetings cannot take without me because I plan and run the committee meetings. The committee meetings are always held during the fall conference."

"The conference is only two days this year, though?" he asked, as we walked to the elevator so he could attend a meeting.

"I'm going for longer than two days. Maybe you only get two days..." I parried.

"Well, I guess you're just special."

"You bet your ass I'm special," I reminded him. "I suppose I need to check the overall schedule, make sure I have an evening free when the whole technical gang is in town."

"Yes, you do need to," he fired back. "Your dance card can be full, but it can't result in conflicts."

"Just so you know," I warned him, "the marketing guys are already bidding for my time." One marketing guy in particular noted that we may finally have a chance for some uninteruppted time once we are at the hotel, but that doesn't need to be publicized.

"Face it, Dana, the technical guys are just more fun that the marketing boys," he prodded, as the doors opened.

"Yeah, we'll see about that," I said, as I stepped away from the closing doors.

Truth be told, all this attention has made me feel a bit sassier than normal. I think that the Husband and I may need to put the kids to be earlier tonight.

If I get a raise, perhaps I can buy him a clue

The Husband was very supportive of me when I was changing professions ten or so years ago, and trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. He gave me input on revising my resume, an kept an ear to the ground about potential job openings. Whenever I was changing positions or applying for a promotion, he encouraged me and tried to help me identify my strongest assets to play up during interviews and performance reviews. My career has advanced from receptionist to departmental secretary to executive assistant to board governance support.

Yet, The Husband continues to be stymied by the idea of my need to actually work. When he is home and I am at the office, he calls for the dumbest reasons, and seems put off when I tell him I need to ring off, or if he leaves me a message that goes a few hours without being returned. Last night, he asked for my help for a task involving stuff we are cleaning out of teh basement.

"I can't do it now," I told him. "I have some work I brought home that I need to attend to first."

"Why are your bringing work home?" he questioned.

"Because I have to give this report to the CEO by 11:30 tomorrow, but the people who have the answers I need to fill in the last pieces of information didn't email me until after I had left the office."

"Well, that's not your fault!"

"No, it's not my fault," I explained. "It's not anyone's fault, really. I asked for for what I needed, she gave me the answer when she had the chance to, and now I am using it to finish my task. Regardless, the report needs to be finished by a certain time in order to be reviewed in time to make my print deadline."

And I did my report, and then we did the thing in the basement and all was well.

So, I am gearing up for an offsite meeting on Monday, and I have to be at the hotel at 6:30 a.m.

"So, I guess you'll be home early," The Husband speculates.

"No, regular time."

"But I thought the meeting was over at 3:00."

"It is," I explained, "but after we break down from the meeting, I have to go to the office to finish whatever edits the CEO has to the briefing materials, so I can pass the project off for review by the legal department before it goes to print."

One meeting I had in Denver last September lasted until 5:45 Colorado time, and the cars were leaving at 6:05 for dinner. I barely had time to disconnect my computer, retrieve the handouts, pee and change out of my suit, much less make a phone call. When we got back to the hotel, it was after 10:00, and I didn't want to wake The Husband up with a "good night" call from two time zones away when he had to get up early the following morning. When I called him on his cell first thing the next day, he was on his way to work and angry that I had not called the night before. Since, you know, all I was doing was hanging out with coworkers and meeting attendees.

Funny how someone who wants me to be praised for my good work ethic and ability to perform is upset when I do what it takes to meet the deadlines and make the department run smoothly.

Massaging egos won't violate our harrassment policy, will it?

I stopped into Isaac's office yesterday.

"I just wanted to say 'hi' since I didn't get a chance to earlier," I began.

"He looked at me suspiciously. "You're only seeking me out because Casey isn't here," he countered.

"That is not true!" I protested. "I very often stop in to say hello to you."

"When Casey isn't here," he persisted. "When he's in the office, you seek him out. Or Dan."

"I seek you out way more than I seek them out," I noted (correctly, I might add. For every time I go to Casey and Dan's office, there are at least two or three visits to Isaac's.)

"I'm in the office more than they are," he countered with mock indignation. "That's the only reason."

"Listen, I can't help that you are feeling some sort of...intimidated by Casey or Dan. You've got your little complex or something. Seriously, can't you just enjoy that you are the person who is here today; you are the person who bears the benefit of seeing me with my swishy dress and painted toenails and my strappy shoes..."

Isaac swiveled his chair to check out my claim.

"No stockings," he mumbled, slightly disappointed.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, nothing!" he claimed, feigning innocence.

"By the way," I purred, "neither Dan nor Casey is privy to the fact that my stocking are usually thigh highs. You're the only one who was there when I revealed that tidbit. When cooler weather comes back around, and bare legs aren't as much of an option, you'll know something that they don't."

A thoughtful smile crossed his face. And I knew that my attention to Casey and Dan was forgiven, at least for the time being.

Labels: My boys