Unnamed

From where I was, two tables away, three minutes ago, this woman was a heavenly goddess. Golden hair, shining like the sun, cut in an edgy, trendy sort of way. Brown eyes, the color of Earl Grey tea. Her lips, an invitingly fiery red. Her mouth parted in a sexy, confident way that matched her sultry, seductive voice. She called me over, telling (not asking) me to take a seat next to her. She offered to let me buy her another non-fat caramel latte with a shot of espresso. I, awe-struck by her perfection, agreed. As we sat in silence, her studying her coffee, me studying her, I became more and more turned off.

Upon closer inspection, it's come to my attention, she is far from perfection. She has an overbite, which explains the parted mouth that now resembles a dying fish. She has two dollar lipstick on a snaggle tooth. Her trendy haircut is actually a jagged, horrendous mess resembling a murder scene, and the blonde glow is from a bottle, as confirmed by the brown roots starting to show. Her black tea eyes, up close, are a swampy sort of hazel. Her confidence is more of a shallow, brattiness about god knows what. I must find a way to escape this situation, immediately.
"Oh, my! I'm sorry, but it appears I'm late for a meeting." I hope that sounded sincere.
"Whatever. Do what you gotta do," she says in a classless way. Her voice, now, sounds less sultry and much more masculine.
Why do I get the feeling I just got hustled for coffee?