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It was a good fit and took nearly an hour for daddy to get me calmed down enough to talk to me. He was thinking all the things I thought he was. He regretted losing his little girl. He liked me when I dressed up in dresses and pastels. He liked my hair done up in the elaborate styles that mommy used to do. He found it cute when I used to play with my dolls or my tea set or my play kitchen set. In short, he missed his little girl and he thought it was his fault she was gone. He was trying to get her back.I wiggled down from the chair he had thumped me down in and climbed up into his lap. Really looking at him, I was shocked to suddenly realize how much older he was looking. I guess we both had been drifting along on autopilot since mommy died. His black hair was no longer cut really short and brushed nice. His face was covered in scratchy hair and there were lines on his face that didn't used to be there. He looked tired. His blue eyes were dull and weary. He used to look like a more. For me, these initial meet-ups are scary. I tend to forget I have met people before and I almost never remember any names. My secretary was aware of my “deficiency” and was standing close to me to make sure I did not commit a very large gaffe. At a certain moment I was introduced by my UK Head of Office to someone I was sure I had not met before—I would have remembered her. She was in her twenties or early thirties. It’s always difficult to judge at that age. I am fifty-three, so that age for me is just “young”. She was not very tall, straight blond hair, medium length. She had green eyes and, by the look of it, quite large breasts. My UK boss introduced her as Samantha, the new UK Social Media Specialist. We chatted briefly and she seemed to be a nice person. She gave me the impression she was a professional and knew what she was doing, job-wise. I was immediately attracted to her. I cursed to myself. I do not need this shit at work. First of all, work and pleasure does not mix.
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