• Pretty (Enough) Woman

I won't mention the name of the olive oil store, but don't go there.

If you saw the movie Pretty Woman, you remember how hurt Julia Roberts' character was when the staff at a Beverly Hills dress shop refused to wait on her. Julia and I have a lot in common.

I was taking a break from the dogs I was pet sitting, walking around the Santa Fe Plaza. I realized I was a tad hungry. I spotted an olive oil store doing tastings. A hunk of bread dunked in oil would be just the thing,

The store was dark. Casks lined the walls. A glass bowl was filled with bread squares smaller than dice. The saleswoman, a 30-something blonde, was helping a customer. She turned to look at me. She drew her eyes downward from my windblown hair to my fleece vest adorned by a dog hair or two, to my well-traveled Healthy Back bag and orthopedic shoes caked with dirt from hiking with the dogs. Silently, she turned back to her customer.

Oh, no she di'int!

Oh, yes, she did. She didn't just ignore me—she dismissed me.

In the nice store

I didn't know what to do. Should I wait? The customer was another 30-something woman dressed tastefully in low-key Santa Fe style. She drank from a tiny paper cup and nodded. "Yes, this one is much better." She had money, and I have no problem with a salesperson who first takes care of a customer who's going to buy something. But to dismiss me? I left the store.

I couldn't get the insult off my mind. Hesitantly, I told the saleswomen in a nearby shop. "Well, we're glad you're here!" one said.

As I tried on clothes, I got a crazy idea. I could do like Julia Roberts, buy bags of clothes and scarves and purses from the nice store and waltz into the olive oil store. "Do you work on commission?" I would ask the blonde saleswoman. "Big mistake. Big. You wouldn't wait on me yesterday, so I spent all the money I would have spent on olive oil.'" I would hoist the bags triumphantly and turn on my heel.

Of course, the best part would be that afterward I would have sex with Richard Gere.