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Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.  Or do.  
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You So
Secretary
to Me.

Secretary’s Day, y’all.  If you got one, buy her (or him. I’m all gender-neutral) a
flower.  Or a bush.  Or whatever strikes your fancy.

But whatever you do, don’t write “Happy Secretary’s Day!” on the card.  I learned
this lesson last year.  I was ultra-excited to have my very own secretary (mine! All
mine!) and so I was kind of pumped about ordering her some flowers.  I searched
for Secretary’s Day to find (a) the exact date, and (b) a florist.  

I found both, but I also found that Secretary’s Day? That doesn’t exist anymore.  
No.  It’s now “Administrative Professionals’ Day.” Because apparently “Secretary’s
Day” was demeaning.  You can’t say “Secretary’s Day.”  You can’t say “Secretary”
at all.  Ever.  Even if being held at gunpoint by crazed terrorists.  No.  You cannot.

And so, okay.  I don’t call my secretary a secretary, actually.  I call her
my assistant.
I don’t care, and she prefers it, so I’m like, whatever floats your boat.  I’m easy.  
But Administrative Professionals’ Day? Who came UP with that clumsy-ass name?

And don’t get me started on the card.  It was ridiculous.  It read (pre-printed, for my
convenience and subsequent humiliation) “Happy Administrative Professionals’
Day!”  Kind of a mouthful.  Of bullshit.

But I bought the flowers and the accompanying card anyway, and I shelled out
about $60 for an arrangement that looked enormous on the website.  Because I
was still pumped!  I have, if not my own secretary, my own Administrative
Professional! Look how big I am!

I went to Athens that night, and told my good friend C about the death of
Secretary’s Day and the advent of the newer, more politically correct holiday.  She
was astonished by this.  As was I, all anew, thanks to the copious (Copious!)
amounts of wine we had consumed by this point in the conversation.  She was like,
“When did ‘secretary’ get this negative connotation?” and I was all, “It’s like a bad
word now! Like, ‘you’re so secretary!’” And thus it was born.  C was  immediately
all, “Oh, no you DI-INT just call me SECRETARY, Bee-otch,” and I was all, “Oh, I
believe I DID.”  And we totally amused ourselves for the next hour by telling
everyone at the bar how secretary they were, including our boyfriends, the
bartender, and several complete strangers.  And y’all, it totally caught on!  Except
that it really didn’t, but C and I act like it did, because we still call things secretary
all the time.  

Don’t like the drink?  It’s so secretary.  She’s a bitch?  Not anymore.  Now she’s a
secretary!

See how well that works?

Anyway, as a postscript, I went to the office on Administrative Professionals’ Day,
and there were flowers everywhere.  Except every other arrangement, besides the
one I purchased, was (a) containing a card that read “Happy Secretary’s Day!”
and (b) Huge.  Large.  Supersized.  The arrangement I got my secretary?  
Minuscule.  Ridiculous.  Fitting in a coffee mug.  My administrative professional
was all, "Thanks.  Thanks SO much."

And thus I learned several important lessons, namely (1) don’t try to be politically
correct in a corporate law office, because you’ll end up looking like a freak; and (2)
CHECK THE DIMENSIONS of any and all flower arrangements before sending
them.  Those numbers are there for a reason, people.  If it says, for example,
FOUR INCHES TALL, maybe it isn’t worth the SIXTY DOLLARS they are asking.

But still.  Sixty Dollars?  I won’t say the name of the florist, but it sounds like
Shlowers dot fom.  And honestly, y’all-- they are SO secretary.