Today is the wonderfully useless semi-holiday known as Take Your Daughter to Work Day, in which children are pulled out of the comfort of their school and exposed to their parents workplace so that they can “explore the many life choices they have.”
I’m really not that upset about Take Your Daughter to Work Day, so long as she stays out of my way. What I have issue with is the increasing difficulty determining whether the young lady on some old dude’s arm is his daughter. Or is she his girlfriend? Or just his legislative/lobbying assistant?
Any time I go out, there is just a parade of balding, paunchy men with pre-pubescent young women who are either twelve-years old, twenty-four years old or something north of forty, depending on how much clothing she’s wearing (the twelve-year old typically covers the most skin, while the bleached-out blonde forty-year old would be happy wearing a leaf over her bare essentials.
Florida’s capital is really no different than the average bar as a steady stream of lecherous old men troop through Tallahassee with their girlfriends/lobbying assistants who look more like their daughters than can be comfortable for anyone.
So today, on Take Your Daughter to Work Day, be careful addressing the young lady on that lobbyist’s arm. Sure, she could be his daughter, but she’s just as likely to be his girlfriend or some muffin who works for him.