My boss is a blabbermouth who couldn't wait to tell me that my new assistant used to be a stripper. But then the juicy gossip turned awkward when I remembered, oh yeah, my boss is also Stripper Assistant's mom.

This dirty g-string laundry is a perfect example of why I keep office talk about my personal life to a minimum. In fact, my coworkers would be hard-pressed to tell you something about me other than:

1) I have a wife named Patti; and
2) I take public transportation to work.

And since I walk five blocks from the train station to work each day, I didn't think it was a big deal to ask Stripper Assistant, "Can you walk to the post office and send this letter certified mail?"

She replied, "You want me to walk there in these heels?" I almost bargained that she could seductively crawl instead. You know, with sporadic stops at street signs so she can wrap her tired legs around the pole.

"Forget it," I told her. "I'll take it over during lunch." And I did. Then during the walk back I waved at Stripper Assistant as she drove three blocks to grab some lunch.