The bane of my existance.

"Excuse me, do you have any samples?"

That question makes me want to kick a baby. Or a kitten. Or a puppy. Instead I grit my teeth and smile. "Why yes, what were you looking to try?"

"I don't know. What do you have?"

That question makes me want to leap across the counter, mean-girls style, and attack.

But. Instead I grit my teeth, grin even more, and list a bunch of things we have samples from. Which ranges from handcream to shampoo to perfume.

"I don't know. Just give me a bunch."

Well. Excuse me for trying to narrow down what you might like from the HUNDREDS of samples I have in WALL of drawers behind me.

Lets see. Hair mask? Yeah, your hair looks fried. Perfume? Sure. You smell a little. Stretch mark pregnancy cream? Why not! You look a little too pudgy for that shirt you wear, but hey. Maybe you got a bun in the oven. Anti-aging face creams and eye depuffers and wrinkle fighters and oil absorbers? Hell, I'll give you triple of those because honey, you're lookin' haggard.

Next time, please...just buy a little three dollar chapstick before you ask me about samples, k? You'll make me want to kill you less.

PS: I'm not this mean all the time. Just sometimes.