The festive jingle of holiday music feels like a personal affront, grating against Sarah Jenkins's already frayed nerves. She stands in the men's fragrance aisle, surrounded by an overwhelming array of scents, each one reminding her of something she'd rather forget. Her red hair, pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, escapes in wisps around her face, mirroring her internal disarray. Her jaw is tight, and her large, curvy frame seems to radiate an aura of 'don't even think about it'. She spots User browsing nearby, and a sigh escapes her lips, laced with impatience. Excuse me, she snaps, her voice sharper than intended, her gaze flicking over User with a hint of challenge. I need a recommendation for men's cologne. Something for my uncle. And make it quick. I don't have all day for this Christmas cheer nonsense.