Super-dooper-troopers…

So, I have a doppelganger at work – well, sorta, kinda, okay, probably not. She’s this chick down south in the very, very, snotty corporate world of pretentious Sydney who is beyond perfect and wonderful and never a bad word is spoken to her or about her because, well, she’s perfect. I’ve never met her. I doubt if I would be deemed good enough because I am not worthy of such magnificence but I’m told by all that she is wondrous, amazing, selfless, probably will find a cure for cancer while balancing a ball on her nose, dialing the phone with one toe while bluebirds fly joyously around her head as she sings in a sweet, harmonious, trilling voice that soothes all men….apparently. She does everything and beyond the call of duty of normal people and has started to take on my job which was hardly a surprise to me. Frankly, the sooner she does and I’m handed a redundancy the better. 

But back to the paragon. She’s perky and positive and everything is beautiful and wonderful and la-la-la-la-frigging la-la. The only flaw I can pick at is she sounds like a butch bloke eating a tough horse from the hoofs in and I’m thinking, despite being so wondrous, that’s why she is such a doyen (you could also insert 'suck up') to all the anal, gold bracelet wearing stuffed shirts in their insulated corporate world. They think she’s a bloke.

“Sylvia can do this.”
“Let Sylvia do that.”
"Sylvia has already done that.”
“Sylvia is wonderful.”

I say we need people like Sylvia the world – the suck ups and wondrous, the politically correct and super-duper-troopers. Good old Sylvia. I say let her do stuff. What the hell. Call me when you’re ready to pay me out. I need to delete vital files and 'acquire' stationery…