To that extent, I've been working on several requests for proposal (RFP) to deliver services. If you've ever worked on an RFP you know its a cross between marketing and a beauty pageant. Or maybe more like a dating service. One where they line the girls up in a room and say "By the end of the night, I'm going home with one of you . . . you all try to show me why it ought to be you." And just like those girls might do, you put on your prettiest dress, shave your legs, wear your push up bra, and put on a spritz of some expensive perfume . . . its grueling.
So we're working day in and day out to get this proposal put together. I've been measuring success by how many times I get home before midnight. I kind of hoped tonight might be one . . . but then I got the "Hey, we're all working in the war room until its done tonight" speech . . .
I guess this is what it takes to be one of the elite. The boss. The head honcho. The big dog. Since I'm a woman, does that technically make me the big bitch?
Don't answer that honey . . . your patience has been appreciated. Even if you think my breath after a dinner of fiesta salsa sun chips at my desk in the office is rancid . . .
If we win this, I'll be a little bit closer to that promotion. After that, I might have to get my moral compass adjusted . . .
Respectfully submitted,
The Wife
2 comments:
I would totally promote you to "partner in crime" on a cross country adventure if you win this.
Hint.
Hint.
I too suggest you go on a cross-country trip with Thelma... I mean Betty. After all, it's just a few more days without you around, and we are kinda used to that by now.
Kidding!
Well, I'm kidding about the getting used to it, but I'm not kidding about the trip. Go. It will be cathartic. Of course, there may be a Ferrari in the garage when you get back, but don't worry about a thing.
-The Husband
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