[Basil Ransom]

I came upon the latest installment of 'Dear Prudence' on Slate, and discovered apparently that banging your twin brother is no real transgression, while trying to look presentable for clients is an abominable sin.

Cliffs: Fattie starts working for a guy who hires only hotties for junior positions, until he got slapped with a lawsuit. She gets smartass comments from clients about it, and asks how she should respond. Prudie tells her to be professional, and definitely do not under any circumstance Allah forbid try and enhance your appearance.

It's very possible this guy hired only hotties because that's what clients wanted and responded to. Everyone in the service and hospitality industry does this on a daily basis. No one wants to see fatties. But these fat, old or decrepit women are too delusional to recognize this basic fact.

In summary, homosexual incest, cool. Losing weight to look presentable for clients, BAD.

As a bonus, the 'advice' columnist ends with telling a woman to immediately leave her boyfriend because he's a bit of a neat freak. Yup, toss an otherwise decent relationship and definitely don't try to allay his concerns. And I just discovered she wrote this, of her husband's first wife who fell to cancer at 34: "She died, so I could find the man I love." This woman is evil. Thank you Wellesley College for producing this fine specimen.

Lest you lose your appetite, I'll omit the homosexual incest episode (Remember 2/1!). Here follows the tale of the 'Nottie.'

Quote:

Dear Prudence,
I recently started a new job at a company that has been in the local news. Shortly before I was hired, the owner was sued, because while all the senior positions went to men, the rest of the staff was made up of extremely attractive women. I do not look like my female co-workers. I’m a brunette who’s over 25, and I’m not “curvy,” just one big curve. I’m slowly being introduced to our clients, and the first time I met one, he said, "Oh, you must be one of the new hires!" and everyone at the meeting laughed. Only after another client said it did I realize he was referring to my boss's legal troubles. It’s astounding how many clients have now made the same joke. I overhead one client call me the “nottie.” I’m now feeling pressure to try to look hot, when that's not what I'm about. I don't want to offend clients, but it’s insulting they feel they can say this to me. I would go to my boss, but I feel I should be able to handle this myself.
—The "Nottie"

Dear Nottie,
Your firm must have been a source of endless stimulation and even hilarity for the male clients for so long that they no longer notice that they’re flouting the normal rules of courtesy. I’m infuriated on your behalf, but please don’t let your response be to try to turn yourself into a hottie. Your job is to do good work for the clients, so I agree complaining to the boss will be awkward and won’t resolve the situation. When these jerks make their remarks, just ignore their implications. Upon hearing the “new hire” joke, reply: “Yes, I started in December. I really look forward to working with you.” In acting class they teach the importance of subtext. Good actors, through a facial expression, a pause, or a tilt of the head, subtly express their internal state. So you might say to yourself, “Yep, the Victoria’s Secret show has closed, and now real women are working at Letch & Co. But I will do you the favor of pretending I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That half-smile or raised eyebrow from you might just cause the jokers to reconsider their behavior.
—Prudie

Link

Props to those guys for the term 'Nottie.' I'm definitely stealing that.


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On the matter of manners, an incident from last night:

I was on a day 2 last night, getting into my date's car for a ride back to mine. My date had had a rare sense of humor that only fed into my own, making me a little more unhinged than usual. As I was opening her car door to get in, I see this girl absolutely going to town on a piece of pizza. She was walking with an open, full-sized pizza box. She had it suspended into her mouth, holding it high above her head, chewing and walking all at the same time. It was 11 on a Wednesday night; she didn't have the excuse of being shit-faced.

Allah commandeered my voice as a vessel of his will. "Eat that pizza! Oh yeah!" I unwittingly cheered, "Walking and eating, that takes talent! Real classy!" She looked back, snarling, in wonder at this agent of divine will and the force of his message. Despite herself, she was not fat. Her face telegraphed righteous disbelief - "How DARE he?! WHO THE FUCK does he think he is? WTF IS WRONG with eating double-slice pizza out of the box on my walk home?!?

V is for Valor, my friends. Time to take the V to the streets.