I was standing in a crowded chemist shop the other day, quietly amusing myself with the likeness of the chemist to Mr Pitt. He was a cranky bugger and his two shop-wenches were clearly a little anxious around him. When the phone rang they swapped nervous glances, wondering which of them would be in trouble for getting a personal call at work. "She's quite busy but I'll let her know you're on the line," he said in a plummy, disapproving tone.
It was all very droll.
However, it wasn't quite so hilarious when, after dropping off my prescription and shoving my way through to the exit, he called out after me.
"Oh, miss."
All eyes on me.
"Would you prefer the name brand or the generic brand?"
"Er, the name brand will be fine, thanks."
"Suit yourself. They both have exactly the same contraceptive effect, you know."
As the weight of the mass public gaze sent me scuttling out the door, I took some grim satisfaction in noting that he did call me miss and not madam.
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