More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Another pair of seven-hundred-dollar shoes sacrificed to my complete and utter lack of grace under
pressure: this clocked in as my third such breakage this
What's going on? What's going on? Hmm, well, let's see here. Really not all that much, I suppose. I spend most of my time trying to survive my term of indentured servitude with your sadistic wife.
I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out a tactful way of telling Miranda that if a girl is attractive, athletic, comfortable with celebrity, lives in Manhattan, has a driver's license, can swim, has an advanced degree, speaks French, and is completely and entirely flexible with her time, then chances are she does not want to be a nanny.
“LOVE THAT TOP? YOU THINK I LOVE THAT FRATTY, GAY-JOCK LOOK YOU'VE GOT GOING? JAMES, YOU NEED TO RETHINK HERE, OK? OK?”
“Andrea, a pleasure to meet you,” Gabriel said, extending a hand and taking mine in one of those annoyingly delicate I'm-not-shaking-your-hand-as-I-would-a-man's-because-I'm-sure-I'd-just-snap-your-girly-little-bones-in-half clutches.
“No, no, you just listen for a minute,” I started, feeling primed and ready to lay into this lazy girl who had a far better job than my own. “I'm calling from Miranda Priestly's office, and it just so happens that—” “I'm sorry, did you say you were calling from Miranda
