"Can I show you something?"
"I was just... smelling-smiling. I was just blouse-browsing."
"For your wife, or your girlfriend?"
"What? What happened? Whew! I guess it wouldn't be any... wouldn't be the Christmas shopping season if the stores were any less hooter than they-hotter than they are. Whew! It is warm in here."
"Well you have your coat on."
"Yes. Oh, do I? How did that happen?"
"'Cause it's cold out?"
"Yes, yes, it is. It's a bit nipply out. I mean nippy out. What did I say, nipple? There is a nip in the air, though."
"Can I take something out for you?"
"I was just, ahhh, I was just looking at something for my wife, God rest her soul."
"Oh God, I'm so sorry."
"Oh, no, no, she's not dead. We're just divorced. She's history. And obviously she does't wear underwear, and there are plenty of shopping days left until adultery, that is adulthood, which is to say Christmas, as in yule, yule log. Not a log, I don't have a log, but I mean, you know, if I had a log, not in the sense that you think I said I did... Good golly. 'Tis the season to be merry."
"Well, that's my name."
"No shit."
"... These are cut really high on the hip. Look, I'm wearing something similar. See, you can't see the lines."
"Can't see the line, can you, Russ?"
"No."