I'm dying over here...

...I am seriously choking. My co-worker, Karen, gets all the wacko customers. Thank god. But this time, the wacko-ness spread to my side of the room, and that's not even funny. This chic had so much perfume on it was unreal. I am so not kidding you.

Let me put it this way: If you could actually see her perfume in this room, you would have thought someone opened the door and let the clouds roll in.

Plus, the stuff didn't even smell that good. No perfume needs to be that spicy. Blech.

You know what gets me the most? She wasn't even going anywhere! Who in sam hill-nasty-smelling-nose hair-singeing-vomit-inducing-stanky-poo said wearing sweats and a pony tail meant you could bathe in eau de crappy? The devil, that's who.