Previously on Lost (her sense)
Each and every worker must come to the door and look at us with their penetrating testosterone laced stare. Another one they must practice on each other because they're practically identical. Only the amount of eyebrow wiggle accounts for any individuality.
So after I mentally score each leer, I'm usually called to pick up my slice. I attempt to dodge the tentacle fingers for the second time during the food exchange and get out of there with my virtue (mostly) intact.
Being able to then eat the best burrito ever goes a long way towards recovery even though I can't shower until much later.
So that's the sordid ordeal I endure just to be able to enjoy my Neato Burrito. No one said you never had to make sacrifices for what you want.
I blame stress induced pizza ordering for my momentary lapse in mental stability in grabbing the skinny jeans. After all that, trying on skinny jeans is the least of my worries. I think I may have a viable excuse for almost any criminal spree I can come up with.