I imagine a number of you wonder where I work; or at least what it is I do. Well, in the interest of maintaining my anonymity, I’m not going to tell you. I will tell you, however, where I sometimes fantasize that I work. There are times, okay a lot of times, when I like to pretend that I work in a private investigator’s office; particularly one Charles Townsend Agency.
For those of you that don’t know, Charles Townsend was the Charlie that signed the Angels’ paychecks.
See, like the Charles Townsend Agency, we have a head honcho that finds the clients and introduces us to them and doles out assignments, but for the most part remains a voice over a speakerphone. Though I have met our Charlie, even spoken to him face to face; at our holiday lunch last year he even stopped by for a record 15 minutes.
We also have a Bosley. He knows Charlie the best, hangs out with him, calls him; rumor has it they have even chilled together outside of the office. On a day-to-day basis, Bosley provides us with all sorts of direction and encouragement. He even lends a hand when our caper requires a man.
And then of course there are the Angels, though our group has more than three. Nonetheless, we Angels are all young, all varying degrees of attractive and, oh right, all women. Now, since the departure of Theresa, all of our Angels are brunettes. Something Bosley has tried to correct by suggesting I return to my natural, blonde coloring. And while I have considered it, especially after he told me I look younger with lighter hair, I don’t think I have the body to be our Farrah or Cameron.
Plus I much prefer to be the tough one, who is never in a bikini but is always getting into trouble by falling for the wrong sort of man.