During my trip back to the UK, I was overwhelmed in a chemist - so awful this particular shop that I can't recall its name - pink and black with scarily bright lighting. The assistant kept asking me if I wanted to smell Justin Bieber, or at least what he had claimed to be his invented smell. I only went in for a bottle of shampoo; did I look like someone who would want to smell a fragrance fabricated by a waining pop star's publicity team? Really!
Anyway, yes I was overwhelmed by many things: the choice of shampoo, the ton of tacky jewellery, the: have six of these and you can have a seventh quarter price off, and a copy of Prying Into Celebrity Bathrooms; but even more so by the sheer quantities of false eyelashes on sale.
The few (I assume) people who actually waste time gluing hairs onto themselves cannot be vast? Especially in the cute Trumpton-esque town of Wimborne. How many choices do you need?
Big, huge, long, short, Yeti, subtle, small - perhaps you don't possess eyelashes, in which case fair enough, but there were enough possibilities to cover anything: seduction, going shopping for groceries but looking lovely in case you happened to spot someone exciting behind the courgette display; Goth, vampire, Barbi, spaced out, clumped, with jewels/without, messed up ones - really, ones that looked like you had got lost in bed for three days after drinking eighty Tequila slammers and hadn't cleaned off your makeup. Mad.
I bought a small bottle of something for normal hair, (whatever that actually is) paid and escaped without learning what J.B smells like.
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