Measuring up

This was the first happy hour mixer I had attended for residents of our condo community. If I had attended one earlier, I might have been better prepared.

She introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Molly.”

“Good golly, it’s nice to meet you, Molly.” I loved my clever response.

“Like I never heard that, what’s your name?”

“Hank.”

“Well, Hank, how long have you been living in this community for folks over 55?”

“Since my wife died five years back. This place suits me now. How about you.”

“I moved in two months ago. I’m in building six.”

I looked at her closely, trying to figure out how old she might be. I thought sixty—could be a little less.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Even at seventy-five, I could still behold her beauty.    

“Molly, I live in building two, alone, no family.” As soon as I had said it, I knew it was too much information.

“Are you retired, or are you still a working man?”

“Oh, my goodness, I’ve been retired for sixteen years. How about you, retired or working girl?”

She laughed with a twinkle in her eye. “For sure, a working girl.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a personal assistant.”

“So, you assist people in doing what?”

“Mostly, it's about achieving happiness. I work with retired men and an occasional woman.”

"I'll bet they are all single."

"Big boy, I just met you. You shouldn't gamble with a lady who knows the score and you don't even know the wager."

“Molly, it sounds like your service could be called something else.” I intended my words to be framed with a smile. But it looked more like a smirk. 

“People I work with become friends. I don't worry about others. It is amusing that people are offended when someone brings happiness simply by doing something others don’t want to do.”

“I get it. It’s like migrant workers picking crops. A lot of folks don’t want them here but aren’t willing to do the work themselves.”

She laughed for the first time. It was a fine, deep, rumbling laugh that sounded sensual. “That’s me, a crop picker!”

Her laugh became contagious. A couple of guys smiled without knowing why she was laughing, but the ladies with 'em didn’t.

“Molly, I used to have a personal secretary but never had a personal assistant. Maybe I need one.”

“I’ve had men tell me that. But I just don’t take on anyone. I always do a needs assessment with any potential client.”

“A needs assessment? That sounds like a business plan.”

“Indeed. I need to know the ability of the person.”

“So, you could do a needs assessment for me?”

“I could. There is no cost or obligation for a needs assessment. Sometimes, I’m not the right fit.”

“Molly, assuming I agree to a needs assessment, what's involved?”

“Think of it as an exam by a new doctor. I need to get the full measurement of the man.”

“Umm, I’m not sure. Now, back in the day, I could always count on a number like seven, maybe even seven and a half. Of course, truthfully, no one took any time to measure anything, but I assure you no one complained.

“But these days, I don’t think a tape measure would help.”

“Hank, did I say anything about a tape measure? You may have the wrong idea. The needs assessment is for my needs. I want to know if the potential client can meet my needs. Any benefit for the paying client is a bonus for him. In my business, that's a win/win.”

"Interesting. How much do you charge for ongoing services?"

"I use a sliding scale."

"Are scholarships available?"

"Ah, at last, a good question. Yes, scholarships are available but earned based on merit."