"Harry, Harrrreeeeeeey! Will you…stop snoring! How can I possibly talk to you, if you’re snoring!
“Where are my boots?” frantically tossing underbed detritus in every direction. "I have to find my brown boots! I have crawled through 'roids to get this opportunity and I’m not losing it just because I accessorized…incorrectly!
"Harry! Harrry! Stop that snoring, This is not helping.
“Arabella!” in a rather loud, petulantly, infuriating whine. “Have you seen my brown boots?” While whispering to herself, “I have to think of my image.” Shoulders back, head held high, and best Quafe smile flashing, “after all, one day…I’ll have followers.”
Shoulders back, head high, and best Quafe smile flashing, "Arabella, what do you think? Do you think this tee is too tight? I mean, I want to be appealing; but, I also need to look like a professional investigative journalist. Someone to be taken seriously. I’ll never get a Quafe sponsorship if I look like a bimbo…
“…but the bimbo look is so terribly useful,” said to herself. “I mean, guys fall for it every…single…time. Arabellllllaaaaa!”
Small fists clenched, shaking fruitlessly (and furiously) in the air, “why is that woman never where I need her?” Turning abruptly, and bumping into the aforementioned Arabella (who has been following along, all along), "Araaaabelllaaa…
“Watch where you’re going! You might damage my makeup! Where have you been?” Pirouetting, appealingly, “what do you think? Do I look serious? I know brown in not a good color…but…but, it’s a serious color. People will take me seriously in brown.” The Quafe smile dims slightly, threatened by a despondent frown, “I have to be taken seriously.” But that Quafe smile cannot be repressed, as indefatigable optimism returns, “I will be taken seriously. After all, I’m an investigative journalist, for the independent press.”
…"Harrrreeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! stop that. You cannot be pawing at me while I’m trying to secure a source, it’s toooooo distracting.
“Arabella, can’t you do something about Harry? Give him a blowjob, or something. It’ll put him to sleep he’s so debauched, and it’s not like you’re not doing it all the time anyway,” subtext being (behind my back).
"After all, all that sneaking around? I mean, seriously, what do you think I am, and why do you think I employ you?
"I’m not dumb, and it’s…it’s…
"…certainly not for your fashion sense!"
Nails violently tapping, a petulant smile mars that naturally sunny disposition, “I’m going to have to do something…drastic. Drastic.”
"How could that cheat of a Quafe executive assistant’s assistant do that to me. She took my Crystal Boulevard Rainbow Illusion nail polymer, that won’t even be commercially introduced until next month, which I had to sleep with that chemist for, and that…that…assistant’s assistant left me at the door. Like I was…a wannabe. I should have gotten into that press conference. I should have gotten to ask a question, at least, (and pose while doing it).
“How could this have happened!!! Haarrrrryyyyyyyy!”