You know what? I’ve just about had it up to here *gestures like Kenyans do* with this PR thing. Seems like I just cannot catch a freaking break these past few weeks. You know how guys say PR chicks are awesome at multi-tasking and taking care of all these clients while still looking fab and unflustered? Well let me let you in on a little something: I feel like I’m cracking and the only multi-tasking I really want to do right now is (fill in the blank, use your imagination), while wearing a really tight pencil skirt and some disgustingly beautiful Brian Atwood sandals.
Honestly. Yesterday, I spent most of my day between meetings, emails and getting my laptop fixed, only for me to leave my final meeting of the day at 5.15pm to find a gazillion phone calls from a number I do not know. Said number turned out to be someone dealing with a client of mine. That someone “very urgently” needed some work done which I could not have done because I did not have a proper brief about it. So I do the decent PR thing and tell my client you know what? I’ll make sure I work on something this evening and send it in the morning for approval, never mind that I am not supposed to be working during the public holiday but who cares what Shiro wants right? And because I really did not want to work during Idd I called a boy of mine so I could go work at his place because traffic was bananas and the idea of getting home at 8pm just to sit down and work did not appeal to me.
So I get to my boy’s place and flip open the laptop to do what? Research about a topic I have never written about (because aforementioned client did not have the information and told me to research, never mind that it touches directly on their business) so I could put together something. Anyway I worked my ass off for the next two and a half hours and managed to do something I figured was decent given the circumstances. I press send at about 9.04pm and pat myself on the ass (back is too mainstream, and always remember that I’m slicker than your average), wonder whether to finally get my glass of wine, then I get a text that just got me wondering seriously, WTF?!
Know how Phaedra from Real Housewives of Atlanta whispered “Jesus fix it” during their reunion? That was me. I was screaming bloody murder right there, then asking Jesus to fix it and take the wheel. I squeezed my eyes shut so tight my eye lashes were bitching and took a deep breath to avoid cussing in front of a woman I respect with everything. I mean c’mon PR, give me a break sometimes also. I did not get into this job to be tested every damn day! For real, this cannot be my portion in life. This, in fact, is the reason I cannot stop cussing at work. Because no other words adequately express what I feel at that very moment and I cannot be bothered to try and be polite sometimes because darn it, I need to effing express myself!
Yaani I’ve shibad for real. For real! But you know what? I’m too proud to let it show in my work. I can’t be that babe walking around this town looking smart yet having people bitch about some shady ass jobs I do. Nuh-uh. My work will remain good. If for nothing else, then to feed my thirsty ego.
And this my friends, is why I sometimes toy with the idea of being a housewife. It seems I lack that business gene that makes people decide to branch out on their own – hence the employment situation – and I’m told I’m not a “hustler,” whatever that means because even our DP claims to be one.
So what options am I looking at right now? Let’s tick them off. Look for another job with another PR agency? No thanks. Even if I’m not of the “a rolling stone gathers no moss” school (moss is gross anyway) I’m smart enough to know that no matter the PR agency, the clients are the same.
Option 2: become a socialite? Well, my pal Chizi has been kind enough to offer to finance the photo shoots and a few other things, but being in employment (and in a relationship with my Mr. Nice Guy) is not giving me enough time to pose and sashay around this city looking for a Naija brother and I simply do not have the cash to finance alterations to my body. Besides, I think people already respect my brain so they’d think I was joking and wouldn’t take me seriously. Even if I used my brain to help create a “tasteful” X-rated App.
Which brings me to option 3: become a housewife. Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing but respect for all the housewives doing their thing, managing their households and children and husbands etc, so this is no way meant to offend anyone. But after dealing with what I’m dealing with every damn day I think it would be a nice break.
Think about it: I can be my own boss; I can stop looking at emails (I get about 70 a day on average and it’s bloody annoying I tell you); my meetings would be more about lunching than explaining why there’s a method to what I do and PR not being equal to Olivia Pope; I can stop scowling every time my phone rings; I can have a child and be in its life every hour for the first year and force it to breastfeed even when it doesn’t want to so I can lose the baby weight; I can have time to go to the gym so I can lose the baby weight and some of my own weight even faster and not feel guilty about treating myself to Arlecchino ice-cream, and what might seem like the best part right now – spend guilt-free hours on Pinterest checking out Brian Atwood heels (because #sexisintheheels), getting ideas on how to decorate and redecorate and how to be even more of a beast in the kitchen than I currently am.
Sounds perfect to me! But Mr. Nice Guy thinks I’m incapable of being a housewife. Apparently I really enjoy working. Funny, because this working this is also not doing it for me right now.
But then another random guy also said he doesn’t think I can do it. Ati I’m not “submissive” enough. I don’t even know what that means because I think I submit just fine. I think I’ll just create a new kind of housewife: the alpha housewife. She does the housewife stuff of overseeing the hired help but her husband pays her a good salo at the end of the month because even being a housewife is a job, and it’s in management.
I obviously think they’re both wrong because I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me (to be a housewife). So dear Mr. Nice Guy, please be prepared for this. I can feel Christ strengthening me already, hehe.