I Need a Butler
I was reading an email from a company I’m not sure I signed up with to listen to a webinar I’m not sure I knew about and it’s a “final notice” that I don’t remember seeing the first notice of.
So as I’m reading this, I turn my head to the side and say, “Isn’t that company spam? Do I think that company is spam? Hmmm.”
At which point, if my life were the movie I pretend it is, my butler would think for a second, look at me and say, “Yes ma’am I do believe you thought this company was complete horsepuckey.” He’d say it in that almost-drawl that butlers of the very, very super cool have. Ma’am would take him, like, almost a full minute to say and he’d almost (but not quite) sound like Lurch from the Aadams Family.
He would have food waiting for me when it was time for food, so I wouldn’t find myself shifting in my chair trying to ignore the hunger pangs when I’m in the middle of writing.
You know, while we’re at it, he’d be a master of some form of martial art so I could have him do my bidding and beat people up if necessary. Or gather intel all spy-style so I could know who is as cool on Twitter as they are in real life. The reason I’m immune from examination is that I’m just as uncool in real life as I am on Twitter.
He would be like my social media ninja butler with a mind like a computer – who never moved faster than a slow walk – butler style, baby.
I mean…if you’re going to live in fantasy land, why include limitations?
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