My (brief) time as a supermodel

As it was of no relevance or interest to me, I had not taken note of how many young, attractive women there were at my office until our National Sales Meeting. There was a large IT conference that was taking place at the same hotel and it was rife with Bill Gates-esque looking men. They looked like they all carried pocket algebra calculators and attended superhero conferences in costume. No doubt they also had an IQ double the size of mine and would soon rule the world.

One night, one such individual approached me and, enthused to the point of madness, declared that only supermodels worked at my company. Later, in the elevator, clones of this individual mobbed me to enthusiastically tell me where I worked. I felt like the ambassador of Victoria’s Secret secret supermodels.

Never before had men been so excited to speak to me. And never before had I been so struck by the power of relativity. This is the supermodel version of Einstein’s theory of relativity: the measurement of female attractiveness is relative to the nerdiness of the men observing said females, and is magnified by the likeness and size of opposing forces.

But as fleeting my time as a supermodel, I may as well revel in it. After all, these are very, very smart men.

Attempting supermodel-dom