Wee Ken (*)

A few days ago, as I collect our mail, I come across the most interesting offer of services in a long time.

As the economy is slow and a lot of people are out of work, flyers offering to come and clean your flat, walk your dog, feed your cat, paint your walls, silence your neighbours, water your plants, get rid of your in-laws, have started to jam the letter box. 

Usually, I just chunck the flyers in the bin, on account of the fact that, being unemployed myself , I can do most of this chores by myself. Except for the in-laws, but only because I happen to like them a lot.  On a side note, I am actually very busy with taking care of my baby and occasionally (pretending to be) cleaning and tidying up the flat, but given that being a full-time mum is unpaid work, it does not seem to count, in most people's eyes, as "real" work. I, myself, find I had much more time for myself and to chill out when I had a full time (well paid) investment banking job (ie a "real" job?) than now that I am a mum. Go figure.

End of side note and back to the point.

This particular flyer, however, is much more interesting that any others. 

It offers to do small work in my flat or my office, 24/7. 

Then it reads:

"WEE KEN included".

I suddendy have a vision of shirtless Ken, mopping the floor of my living room, small but with a tanned, toned, hairless torso (I don't mind hairs, mind you, but have you ever seen Ken with a hairy chest?).  Then when  Wee Ken is done with mopping the floor, he flexes his abs to hoover the bedrooms (on second thoughts, maybe I'll keep that one for myself, on account of havong still not got my pre-Malo abs back). The little man then goes on to cleaning the bathroom, emptying the bin and the dish-washer, sorting the laundry, all along keeping his trademark smile on, and his shirt off. 

Then the thought of a job interview I had a few months ago comes back to me (you may not see how the two events relate, but hold on, and it will all become clear). 

I had applied for this investor relations job. The job looked perfect, and I looked like the ideal candidate (obviously, such jobs don't exist in real life, but at the time, a few months back, I was still yound and naive). I sent my CV, got called for an interview, went to meet the headhunter. As I was sitting in her office,  and without asking even the first question about my job experience, she went on to tell me how she thought I was perfect for the job, because her client wanted to hire a good-looking woman.   Flattering? I think not: she then explained to me how, on her last visit to the client's offices, all the female staff were "stunning women who looked likes Barbies, or straight out of Playboy".

I looked at her, saw she was dead serious, thanked her for her time, and said I did not think I was the right candidate for the job: clearly, ten years of experience in the financial industry did not hold  any weight against the fact I was 5ft2, brunette, rather flat-chested,  and without a annual subscription to PlayBoy Magazine, yet too old to play with a Barbie doll.

But now, it all becomes clearer to me. This was a sign. A sign I was not meant to be a  Barbie-like investor relations executive with a Hefner-wanabee boss, but rather a stay-at-home mum giving orders to a little, fit guy called Wee Ken who had dropped a flyer offering to come and help with house chores.

Or maybe the deal with the flyer was just that the said guy could not spell.

(*) This post is, for all intents and purposes, more intended to be read by British English speakers rather than Americans, or even better, by Scots, who just love their wee drinks, wee men, and other wee bits. That being said, American readers, if you want to read about wee men, Barbies, Ken, mums, house chores, job interviews and Playboy, or if you just love quaint British English expressions, feel free to keep on reading!