When my personal assistant gives notice so she can take care of her aging father I think nothing of asking her to hire and train her replacement. After all, she knows me better than anyone and I trust her implicitly. But perhaps I shouldn't have been so quick to trust. Maybe then I wouldn't find myself saddled with an unbearably chipper, if mouthy, slip of a man that has to wear heels to fulfill his claim of being five-foot-five-inches tall... a man who can't brew a decent pot of coffee to save his life... a man who seems to effortlessly get under my skin and push all of my buttons. What was I thinking?
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