Bijou Brigitte

DUPLE BLONDINE Zličín metropolis. Bijou Brigitte store. Behind the counter, with an expression of deep contempt for everything alive that could ruin the air of a deserted store, stands a sculptural blonde. Any facial expressions would devastate perfect makeup, so I don't even expect a reply to the greeting. I'm wandering among the shelves hanging by a flood of stinking when a male voice comes from behind me, "Please, is there anything wrong with the Star of David?" Instead of answering, the dazzling beauty smoothes her golden mane. "I mean a Jewish star," the man insists, searching in vain for the coveted pendant. I'm helping him find him. Almost at the same time, it occurs to us that the saleswoman can't get involved because she has no idea what the star looks like. "it's six-pointed," I try to move it. A man begs for a piece of paper so he can draw a star. The blonde is not responding. I pull a pen and a parking ticket from my purse. I hastily draw connected triangles on it. "That's the star," I try to move the paper into her field of vision. The murderous look is the first sign that she took note of me, but she stubbornly ignores the drawing. "I don't need to know this," he barks so hard that I humbly sneak out of the store. In my head, like a mantra, a single thought rotates. Dumb, dumb, dumb blonde. Yeah, I'm a dumb, dumb, blonde when I think such a perfect creature will want to know what a Jewish star looks like.

such expensive, average jewelry