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August 13, 2010
Whoever sampled the blue nail polish earlier failed to secure its cap. When I pick it up, it clatters to the floor, unbroken, and at my feet lies a splatter in turquoise not unlike something Jackson Pollock would create as a study.

I alert a saleswoman to the spill, with an embarrassed chuckle, "Rather Jackson Pollock, wouldn't you say?" She pretends she knows what I mean. Apparently Art 101 is not a requirement for Sephora staff.

The perma-eyebrow-raised customer with her glares at me as if I'd poured the polish directly onto her Talbots blouse.

Oh, how I want to.