I couldn't find my keys ... or remember where I lived

So I was in Waterstone's the other day, just killing time, embarrassingly enough leafing through the Doctor Who shooting scripts book, when I had a revelation. A girl walked past me - an employee. The head of the goth in me is easily turned by dark hair and pale skin, and a good rack never goes amiss: this girl had all of these. She was also appallingly beautiful, one of the very few people I've seen in the flesh to make me fully appreciate Aristotle's adage: beauty is terror. What really intrigued me, however (aside from how she didn't notice me staring, and who'll end up with the Doctor Who script book with the bonus puddle of drool), is how she got away with dressing like she had and still kept her job. I swear, she was wearing a tight black jumper that was probably not quite long enough to be worn as a dress, which was exactly how she was wearing it (and certainly not long enough to cover the tops of the stockings she appeared to be wearing, particularly when she climbed stairs), and those floppy, fold-down FMBs that are everywhere at the moment. Seriously, it took me about ten minutes to remember who I was.