Rules are
- I cannot change the story of an established mission once it's underway.
- No make up is allowed but I can change my hairstyle and use wigs.
- I cannot abort a mission if I become bored or dissatisfied with it.
- No half assed efforts or conceding to mediocrity, such as "this will do" That's cheating!
- Accessories are OK.
- Only one mercy dash to the thrift store each game and one $5.00 purchase per mission.
- Missions can be undertaken in any order.
Today's Game.
Outfit Mission 1.
Important meeting at the UN during the Iran Contra crisis. I have my period and worry that I won't be able to bite my tongue when Oliver North jokingly orders me to "fetch him a coffee" They will all laugh. They always do.
Just hours before this meeting was to take place my office receives a fax from The White House specifying President Reagan's wishes that "all females in attendance wear flesh colored pantyhose."
I scrunch up the shiny paper into a ball and throw it at my handsome young personal secretary. His name is Matthew.
Me: "Fuck that clown Matthew. I'm an Australian citizen"
Matthew: "Yeah, that guy is a dick"
Matthew knows I have my period because he tracks my cycle in his calendar. His girlfriend thinks this is weird. I agree. He has already surreptitiously placed a bottle of Pamprin, a travel pack of my preferred tampon and some L'eggs into my work satchel. I will notice these items during the limo ride from the consulate and call him from the car phone to thank him. He's the BEST.
Outfit Mission 2.
A second date taking place on the final flight of the Concorde out of New York with a man I have no intention of sleeping with. Although I'm determined to get a Birkin Bag when we get to Paris I will refuse all his advances. I feel a little guilty about my motives but I suspect he's a racist. I'll find out for sure during the flight. Besides he was rude to the cabbie and then gave him a $1.00 tip. He boasted to me that he always keeps some cash on him because he feels it's "important for men of his stature to always tip regular people." I think I'll sell the purse on ebay and donate the money to a women's shelter. This really makes me feel that what I'm doing is not prostitution but in fact a noble endeavor. Who's exploiting who? I don't know and don't care about such things these days if I really think about it at all.
Outfit Mission 3.
Final round of interviews for flight stewardess upon world's first Time Travel Machine owned and operated by The Nation of Monsanto (they bought the continent of Africa in 2022.) I'm part of an underground resistance sabotaging the project from the inside.
My husband doesn't support me. He thinks I don't hear him when he mutters "terrorist" under his breath when I bitch at him for leaving the toilet seat up. It drives me nuts when he just drops the heavy seat down. That familiar thud of porcelain slamming against itself sounds like he's screaming out "FUCK!"
He always says the same thing too "It's 2037 for Crissake. When is someone going to invent a more efficient way of disposing of human excrement."
We live in Florida and he works for what is left of N.A.S.A. He's a bitter astronaut who drinks too much. He lost our Jupiter ranch home in a bet with a J4 Series robot. Whatever is left of our savings he gambles away on internet porcupine races. I really want this post. He will be taken care of when I die for this is a suicide mission.
No, I'm not posting photos of the final outfits. That would be weird.
