There was no doubt in her mind that she was angry. Looking down at her now ruined four inch heels, retail value $1600, Cynthia Tanosky bent down and brushed off what dirt she could before turning around and walking away.
They were as pathetic as their incomes.
The mystery man had appeared out of nowhere, and in his efforts to jump in and interfere with her life, had tried to help her over a mud puddle. Instead of succeeding, he had tripped instead, splashing the disgusting gunk all over her legs and shoes.
The best excuse that she could come up with for him was that the man must've decided he was in love with her.
Not that she was surprised. She was beautiful after all. Tall and slender, with a delicate pale face, and dark eyes framed heavily with lashes. Her light auburn hair had a natural wave to it, and fell in soft curls over her shoulders of her favorite red jacket from France, retail value consisting of a five-digit number. She imagined that there must have been a sort of light blue aura of heaven-like quality that radiated from every inch of her body, putting men into trance like states of stupidity as she stepped over them and they acknowledged her superiority.
It was a bother, but couldn't be avoided, and this peasant before her was no different, simply a fanboy in awe of her robe and crown.
"I'm really sorry about that," she heard a voice call behind her. Wonderful just what she needed. He still felt the need to speak to her. He jogged up beside her, wiping at a streak of dirt from his face and smiling brightly at her. "Didn't mean to splash anything on you." Wink.