The cashier smiles at me and starts scanning the objects. She stops in front of my bottle of psoriasis shampoo.
“Ah! That’s new, conditioner shampoo. I have to try this. »
She would have said, “Ah! Medium-sized condoms,” and it would have had the same effect among the other customers waiting behind me.
I answer: “Yes, it’s new. I don’t have that much psoriasis (and it’s true, but it was more to say that my dick wasn’t that average, I mean, yes, it’s average, but it does its job. A guy still has pride), but I find that shampoos of this kind tend to dry out the hair.”
I was talking nonsense because I have a habit of buying new things just for the pleasure of trying them out. I wouldn’t say I’m going to buy a product just because its label has been changed, but that’s about it.
I add: “I have psoriasis around my eyes. But it’s light.”
The cashier takes over: “I’m terrible. I have big plaques on my scalp, in my ears, and…”
In my head, I don’t want to know if she has any lower.
“…and at the back of the neck.”
I am sure that customers hear everything and smile.
“It’s stress, it seems,” I conclude.
“For that… “, she replied.
I imagine the customers, behind me, nodding their heads.
In short, the cashier at Jean-Coutu’s house suffers from severe psoriasis, but it really doesn’t seem like it. It’s incredible how well the cosmetic pharmacopeia does things.