Why I dislike most members of my sex:

As my days begin to pile up working at the Sovereign Collection, my resentment for womankind continues to increase. Let me just throw this out there without sounding like a raging feminist: the fact that you married a rich man and have a gardener does not mean you “made it” in life. Before you talk down to me, please consider the fact that although I have not finished college yet, the fact that I started it and am almost finished makes me a lot more educated than you will ever be.

Today a lady entered my shop wearing giant sunglasses (which she left on the entire time) atop a nose that was too small to be her own, and sporting spikey black hair. Her huge, synthetically perky bosom threatened to pour out of the skimpy tank top she was wearing. As if her obvious cosmetic surgeries were not enough to let the whole world know she was wealthy, she felt the need to pull out several of our most expensive dresses and emphatically proclaim to other customers “this would make the most ado-orable nightgown!”
She walked all over the store, picking up folded shirts, only to crumple them up and leave them in a ball somewhere other then where she found them. Some she tried on over her tank top in the middle of the store and would leave them wherever she was standing, inside out. Thankfully, she went into the dressing room to try on a pair of shorts. Moments later, her hand emerged holding the shorts, which she shook in my direction and yelled out “get me these in a size bigger!”
I obliged, without a thanks. All too often there is no “thanks.” There’s no “please,” or “excuse me” either, just pointing and demanding.
I love the women who glance around and make snide comments to their friends like, “Oh God, who can wear this stuff? Not me!” or “I think we’re a little to old for this kind of shop,” said with more than a hint of disdain in my general direction. Most of the time I ignore women like this, but when I’m feeling especially perky I might chirp back “Actually this is a women’s shop. We have customers of all ages.” To this they usually respond with a condescending tone, something like “Well,” glaring me up and down, “I bet it’s real easy to think that way when you’re tall and skinny and young, but I have to think a little bit harder about what I can wear.”

You're right; It's my fault that you have become old and fat and miserable, and in fact, while my boss (who is 42, by the way) was picking out merchandise to sell in her store, I, somehow, secretly manipulated all of her purchase decisions in order to spite you and all women like you. Furthermore, it is actually the prime objective of this store to make women feel bad about themselves. And we ONLY target the young, tall and skinny female population. In fact we really don't intend to sell much clothing- thus the basis of our decision to only cater to such a demographic- we just want to exist here in this storefront, seething spite and pretension.

Apparently, I am a vessel through which women feel they can channel their disgruntled qualms about their lives. It’s days like these that make certain my evening descent into our wine cellar and, consequently, my impending alcoholism.