Hello, miss, but you work as a counter-girl in the store that I am pretending to patronize, so don't give me the "once-over" half a dozen times as I browse through your racks of overpriced rags. I'm in this shop only because the tools I ordinarily use for my special brand of self-masochistic torture have started to malfunction from overuse. (Plus, hot pokers in the eyes is so last year.) I'm in your store so I know what not to buy so I don't look like every other pouting celebrity wannabe who thinks that by slouching around velvety-couch lounges some of the stardust is going to settle on bony shoulders that can barely handle the load.
Now if you'll excuse me, Miss I Work At Scoop And Spend My Week's Earnings On One Hideous Peasant Blouse, the repair shop awaits.
Merry Xmas. And P.S. You are not Cameron Diaz.fresh-baked at 10:35 AM