Hapless.
That's my daughter's word for a few of my clients.
As in clueless.
Well-intentioned but in an oblivious fog of never, ever connecting the essential dots of life.
As in what kind of eejit sends their accountant a box full of papers covered in small coloured stars that immediately cloud the floor, the desk, the computer, the table, in a shimmering sticky rainfall?
Years from now we will be finding these tiny bits of tinfoil.
And oh yeah, an envelope inside with a card extolling my virtues along with a retainer.
And um, yeah,right, the envelope held another avalanche of confetti.
*Head* *Desk* *Sob*
