She was a young woman, perhaps twenty-eight, with incredibly long, shiny blonde hair that reached almost to her knees. She wore fashionable clothes, carried an expensive-looking handbag, and was holding her phone at arm’s length.

Her phone case displayed the name BRITTANY in sparkling rhinestones.

“Okay, guys,” she said to her camera. “Which perfume should I get? This one or this one?”

She lifted two pink bottles toward the screen while the cashier patiently waited.

“Ma’am, are you ready to pay?” he asked.

“One second. My followers are deciding.”

At seventy-three, I’d learned that one second could apparently mean several minutes.

Eventually, Brittany purchased both perfumes. Then she opened a tester and sprayed herself generously.

The fragrance reached me almost immediately.

It was overwhelmingly sweet.

“Excuse me, dear,” I said politely. “That’s quite a strong perfume.”