I'm sitting there minding my own beeswax, reading my magazine while waiting my turn.
Sharm's animated voice is going on and on as usual. He's got new products in and one of the girls is all aflutter, begging to try them out.
He lets her play and swans around fixing someone's hair.
"Shaaaaarrrrm ... how come it's not coming out from the sifter?!!!" she manages to screech past her pout.
"Whaaaaaat??? What's not coming out through the sifter?"
"The eyeshadow!"
I look up and meet his eyes. He rolls his. And sashays overs to check on the recalcitrant pot of eyeshadow.
As he approaches her, his voice drips with sarcasm as he asks, "Dahling, such drama! For all you know you haven't open it! You know, like that clear plastic sticker on it?"
And he laughs drolly, positive that no one could be that daft.
"Oh yeah! That explains it."
Silence.
Sharm and I rapidly excuse ourselves and make a dash for the exit. Where we clutch each other in hysterical and incredulous laughter for a full five minutes.
No, she is not a blonde.
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