Transcript (en)

She's on her way. Tell everyone. She's not supposed to be here until 9. Her driver just text messaged and her facialist ruptured a disc. God, these people! That I can't even talk about. All right, everyone, gird your loins! Did someone eat an onion bagel? I'm sorry. Sorry Miranda Move it! I don't understand why it's so difficult to confirm an appointment. I know, I'm so sorry, Miranda. I actually did confirm last night. The details of your incompetence do not interest me. Tell Simone I'm not going to prove that girl that she sent me for the Brazilian layout. I asked for clean, athletic, smiling. She sent me dirty, tired, and paunchy. And RSVP, yes, to the Michael Kors party. I want the driver to drop me off at 9.30 and pick me up at 9.45 sharp. Then call Natalie at Glorious Foods and tell her no for the 40th time. No, I don't want aquas. I want torts filled with warm rhubarb compote. Then call my ex-husband and remind him that the parent-teacher conference is at Daltoner tonight. Then call my husband, ask him to please meet me for dinner at that place I went to with Massimo. Also, tell Richard I saw all the pictures that he sent for that feature on the female. on the female paratroopers, and they're all so deeply unattractive. Is it impossible to find a lovely, slender female paratrooper? No. Am I reaching for the stars here? No. Not really. Also, I need to see all the things that Nigel has pulled for Gwyneth's second cover try. I wonder if she's lost any of that weight yet. Who is that? Nobody. Um, uh, well, Human Resources sent her up about the new assistant job, and I was sort of pre-interviewing her for you, but she's hopeless and totally wrong, so... Well, clearly, I'm going to have to do that myself, because the last two you sent me were completely inadequate, so send her in.