Perhaps I Could Lick Your Boots While I’m At It?

Occasionally Frumpie is employed to write a client’s resume. In general this can be quite enjoyable work, for one gets to know the client and can connect with the client in an unusual and eye-opening way. Yet eye-opening isn’t always a pleasant thing.

Frumpie is a stickler for using correct words, mind you. What Frumpie isn’t is ANAL about it. Like most writers, I understand when it’s not worth it to overthink it. If I didn’t know that, I’d die of writer’s block on my first sentence.

However, one client in particular has become an expert: a professional writer, don’t you know. Or so she thinks. For the record, she is not a professional writer. In fact, in trying to understand what it is she does for a living, she’s unable to tell me. Oh, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t know! Heavens no, dearies. I should have read her mind instantly, done a complete psychological profiling of her and determined exactly what it is she does from the snippets of old resume garbage she’s seen fit to pass my way. If she’s schizophrenic about her experience, how on earth is Frumpie going to figure it out?

Yet that has not stopped her from fussing about how “weak” Frumpie’s writing is.  She’s quite superior to me, you know. She doesn’t need me for anything more than that lovely grinding sound as she turns the toe of her stiletto on top of my character. I don’t get her AT ALL, she fumes. I don’t know what I’m doing, she charges. My word choices do not express the position in life she holds. She’s better than I am, and I’m too stupid to understand her or convey how special she is properly. So she’s going to go out of her way to humor me and to show me how to do my job.

Such a sweet, charming soul. I cannot imagine why you would need a resume, what with that delightful personality you possess. Frump you, you cow.