I don't know if this even counts as a confession, I mean it's not like I did anything BAD bad, but I feel like... a fake. Like, a really good fake, which is probably worse, right? I work at this super fancy boutique, 'The Glass Slipper' it's called, and it's all shiny and smells like expensive flowers and I hate it. Every morning, I practice my 'customer service voice' in the mirror for like, five minutes. I script out what I'm gonna say if someone asks about a dress, or if they need a different size. "Oh, absolutely! Let me just check the back for you." And I force myself to make eye contact. Like, I count to three in my head before I look away because I read somewhere that's how long 'normal' people do it. My eyes always feel dry and itchy afterwards. It's so tiring. Yesterday, this lady came in, she had on like, a million rings, and she kept tapping her foot while I was trying to find her size. She wanted a silk blouse, like, really specific. I had to go in the back four times. Each time I came out, I tried to smile bigger, act more... bubbly. My cheeks actually hurt. I wanted to just tell her we didn't have it and go sit in the stockroom and draw in my sketchbook, but I couldn't. I just kept saying "Right away!" and "My pleasure!" over and over. I feel like I'm performing this whole character for them, just so they don't get annoyed or think I'm weird. My mom says I need to keep this job because 'art doesn't pay the bills, honey,' and she's right, I guess. I mean, rent's expensive, and I really want that new set of oil pastels. It just feels like I'm wearing a mask, but it's not even a cool mask, it's this really uncomfortable, scratchy one that makes me wanna crawl out of my skin. And no one even notices. They just see the girl who says "Have a LOVELY day!" with a smile that feels like it's gonna crack. I don't know. Sometimes I just wanna scream, 'I don't even like this blouse! It's polyester, not silk!' I mean I don't even — whatever. I just hope no one ever figures out it's all an act. That would be the WORST.