To be frank, the following is quite pedestrian, but then that's actually the point really. Go read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, it's much better.
The Fairy Tale of the Third Assistant of J. Alfred Prufrock
My job, really? No one's ever asked me about my job before. Well, except for my fiancé when he was still trying to get me to walk out with him. Not even my parents over the dinner table – they're always worried about the shop.
Uh, my name is Donatella Moss; and I'm the third assistant to the undersecretary of the Honourable Justice Leagueman, member of the King's Privy Council and head of the Royal Hospitality Committee.
My job is ... indefinite, really. It depends on the situation. I suppose, despite the fancy title, I'm a general dogsbody. So I get all the little jobs and see to it that no one more important needs to worry about them, or even realise there is something to be done. Invisibility, really, is my main aim.
Uh, there was this princess. She had – I forget exactly how, and you can't believe a half of what the stories say anyway – this thing where every time she spoke precious stones would fall from her lips. And basically, it was my job to sit near the top table during meals and whatnot to record each topic of conversation the noblemen brought up, so that they would get their fair share of the gems produced. Oh, the stones that fell out of her mouth changed depending on the subject - diamonds were statecraft, jasper for literature, you know the little blue ones that aren't sapphires? they were freshwater fishing but there was only one night when the princess got stuck next to Lord Simon. And garnets were bird-watching, Sir Leagueman made himself a few of those. He set a couple of the smaller ones as necklaces for his staff, which I think was really decent of him because there's not so many noblemen that considerate of those beneath him.
Another time, it was another princess and she had a frog that would follow her around everywhere – Guglielmo, was its name. I spent three weeks researching what frogs ate and corralling footmen to catch the things, and then I find out its a toad and eats human food anyway. It's a thankless job sometimes, and I mean that both figuratively and literally, but someone's got to do it, right? We can't all of us be important. For every protagonist centre stage declaiming to the footlights, there's another half a dozen needed to fill in the scene, to support the main players; Mr Prufrock – my immediate superior, the undersecretary – told me that once, when he overheard me complaining about the frog, toad. And how should I presume to be any better, you know?
Come on, you can't be interested in this. I'm really so ordinary. I don't go on adventures, or get introduced to royalty, or attend grand parties – I don't even plan them, I write the invitations, that's how far down the chain I am. I'm not saying I'm not good at my job: that's not what I meant at all. Just the other day I was going through the guest list for the baby princess's christening and found a fairy had been missed off the godmother list, and you can just imagine the kerfuffle that would have happened if I hadn't fixed it then and there. But, you know, it's just little things, things anyone could do. I'm a normal person going about their job, and maybe I won't change the world, but you know what? I wouldn't want to. I want to get married, have some kids – and, well, maybe I would like to become first assistant to Mr Prufrock – but that's fairy tale enough for me, really.