Buying nail polish because of the shimmering, irresistible and thick way it rests in its little bottle. Eagerly applying said nail polish during an evening in. Discovering it doesn’t look shimmering, irresitible and thick on your nails, but rather dull, off-putting and half-transparent.

Why do I always feel incredibly energized about styling my hair on a windy day? This adrenaline-fueled fast-paced switch between elation and the swooping setback that follows as soon as you set foot aside is really too much on a workday morning.

You pull up your tights and they tear. And you don’t have a spare handy. Enough said.

The jeans that used to be perfectly alright and adaptable to everything keep getting untucked from your ankle boots as you attempt to strut your stuff. It’s demeaning. It’s uncomfortable. And it lets in that damn little autumn breeze that is just looking for a way to make sure you sniffle all day.

Secretly too-low jeans that slide down with the speed of lightning once the person in front of you bends over, revealing all manner of undesired insights (it’s amazing how much is visible on the human almost backside once in a close-up, unasked for view). I mean, really, that one is so old. What would happen if I just tapped you on the shoulder and described in detail that the hairs on most of what I can see of your butt do not go well with your choice of underwear, judging by the generous Snoopy-covered band of it I can see? If I asked you how you felt about the possibility of your pants simply sliding off right there on the bus stop? And don’t try to tell me I shouldn’t look if it bothers me. I’m not the one who bent over. You have invaded my personal style space. Instead of unobtrusively tucking my own decent jeans in to my boots or pulling up a sock, my thoughts have been sidetracked by this disturbing display.