My coworker Brian adores me. We share make-up tips, and he tells me he loves my face. He's quite a doll.

Oh! And in exchange for a plastic fork and change in quarters, the bartender at The Wave likes to tell me I'm beautiful. Apparently, people like my nose. How silly, it is though. Really, I feel like my nose is one of my far less pleasing features. Ah, but alas. A compliment is a compliment. Sorry, I couldn't legally accept your drinks on the house, but thank you for offering. And asking how old I was.