Dear Rarity,
Sending a letter to me, in clearly desperate writing, begging and pleading to watch your Manehatten branch while you peddle your wares in the Canterlot fashion show is certainly one of the most bizarre requests I’ve received today.
I have no idea how you could have been so unprepared for the show as to have most of your branch assistants taken away for this. How could you possibly be this short on staff? Don’t you have some spoon girl or pom-pom mare on standby, or had your branch managers hire new staff in the case of this kind of situation happening? Or, heavens forbid, you just close the store for one day? Honestly, if your boutique is so popular in Manehatten, one day off is NOT going to make or break your sales quota.
I digress. You’re just lucky I was bored today and did not have a full schedule lined up, and that I was not called upon to judge the fashion show this year. Fifteen minutes of taming a mane into a flowy bun shape and a pair of lilac-frame spectacles later, I came to Manehatten ready for the various fashionistas and the high-roller suit buyers.
Did you know what I got? The same four or five customers, over the course of four or five visits, buying the same damn thing up to three times over and over again. I don’t know much about Rarity For You’s customer base, but this is a rarity for me being in an actual Groundhog Day scenario. I’m not sure how many times I’ve sold the same hipster-but-trendy getup, or bold-but-reserved fashion statement, or a suit to a “I treat my clothes like my bedsheets and demand ultimate thread count comfort” stallion that’s suited to their suitor needs.
I confess that a part of me was curious to see if they were interested in buying something different, so I tried to upsell a thick brown trench coat to a stallion with studs and a vibe of darkness being an old friend. He said the coat didn’t reflect the immense pain inside of him and that wearing it would be like trying to hide his immeasurable sadness and anger against everything.
I tore up half the jacket, and he promptly bought it for sixty bits. You’re welcome.
Anyway, I hope your show is going well. I’ve still got the same customers to sell the same outfits to, and now I’m wondering if I can sell one of your swirly cloth patterns for an umbrella as a scarf.
Maybe I’ll try that on the ‘woke’ girl and see how awakened she’ll be by this. If she gets mad, I’m not worried—she’ll be back after about two hours anyway.
Wishing You Success,
Princess Celestia
Yes, Miss Snooty Snob, I know the difference in color between chartreuse and a Shar-Pei. But if you really love your dog that much, you CAN dress them up like a pear and call them your ‘fruity patootie’! No, really, i-it’ll be the best outfit your money can buy.
I’m sorry, but do you see any other fashion store around here that’s willing to accommodate your dog’s fashion? How do you think Ms. Piddles will react when you’re not coming to her with the perfect lime-colored ensemble? She’ll be devastated, the mockery of other fashion dogs in pink tutus and heart-shaped sunglasses! Can you afford to leave your dog barenaked around the prim and pampered pooches?!
Great! That’ll be forty bits. Ten more if you want the matching wide-brimmed hat!