No Longer For Sale

(I have a very youthful appearance; I look late teens or, maybe, early twenties. I go into a beauty shop.)

Shop Assistant: “Do you need any help?”

Me: “I’m good, thank you; just present shopping.”

Shop Assistant: “I’ll come and help you.”

(She seems very helpful and nice; the store is empty so when she rushes to help me I don’t complain.)

Shop Assistant: “This is nice.” *grabs my hands before rubbing some cream in*

Me: *a little taken a back* ” …Err, yeah, I don’t think it suits me though.”

Shop Assistant: *laughing hysterically* “Oh, you. Let me show you what else we have.”

(She part follows, part leads me round the store, being very friendly and often grabbing my shoulder, or rubbing cream on my hands. Being a bit naïve it takes me the longest time to realise she is hitting on me. I rack my brain how to break it to her. At the till…)

Shop Assistant: “So, do you buy a lot of presents? We have some great stuff. You should pop back in.”

Me: “I, err, yeah, I only really buy this for my wife.”

(Her face freezes.)

Shop Assistant: “You’re married?”

Me: “Yes, with children.” *I hold up my left hand with my ring on*

Shop Assistant: Oh. The total is [total].”

Me: “Thanks!”

Shop Assistant: “…Yeah.”