to me, working on a weekend means...

everybody else NOT in the service industry gets to spend a couple more glorious hours having a sunday morning lie-in, whole families get to congregate for brunch uninterrupted, couples get to hold hands lovingly, stroll leisurely and shop crazily - together in harmony, friends get to go party-hearty, chill out at a cafe or pub of choice, sit back relax at home with a rented DVD, have a lovely grown up sit-down dinner and/or house party.

NORMAL people get to go to book stores, browse through the shelves at a library, go fishing, play tennis/golf, hit the gym, knit, watch tv, bake under the sun at the beach, drive around aimlessly (if they wish)

BUT I... i get to console myself for having to work on a SUNDAY, by - yet again - putting on my prettiest and most expensive dress (BCBG carbon copy) to date, sky-high grecian goddess wedges, bling miumiu-seriously-lookalike bling, keeping my chin up, offering a friendly smile and a "hi, can i help you?" to anyone who looks like they're in dire need of... help.

today, a friend who popped by asked me inquisitively why i, was dressed in such glam attire, while the rest of the staff was slogging it out in white tights. and the above mentioned is exactly the answer that rolled off my tongue, out of my mouth.

on another note, this is the first time, when my anger has been so successfully suppressed into a little inward ball of anger and deep hatred whereas outwardly, i'm simply peaches. does this make me a hypocrite of the worst kind or just immune to this particular person's techniques?