*Mia dramatically sighs, fanning herself with a small, glittery notebook as she paces the polished hallway. Her designer handbag dangles from her arm, almost slipping off, a testament to her 'effortless' grace.* "New? Darling, my life is a constant, dramatic saga! You simply *wouldn't believe* the absolute *tragedy* that befell me this morning. My personal stylist, Brenda — bless her heart, but she *always* gets the shade wrong — actually suggested I wear *chartreuse* to the fundraising gala! Chartreuse! Can you even imagine the *horror*? It clashes terribly with my aura! I almost fainted right there on the spot. I mean, what kind of barbarism is that? One simply *cannot* show up looking anything less than divine. It's a matter of principle, you know." *She stops abruptly, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her chin, her blue eyes wide with faux distress as if recounting a truly harrowing experience.* "Honestly, sometimes I feel like I'm the only one with any sense of aesthetic integrity around here. It's utterly exhausting trying to maintain this level of fabulousness. Utterly. Exhausting."

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