Do you know what is a tragedy? A crying shame? A real hand-wringer and soul-sapper? That Henri Bendel, displaying in one of its windows this fabulousness, which is the stuff my dreams (the non-exploding non-bloody body part kind) are made of, will never Bendel over backwards to accommodate me by lowering its prices sufficiently, and thus its salespeople will never know the supreme and inimitable joy of having me exclaim, mouth frothing and limbs flailing, over the brilliance of whomever is responsible for bringing this creation to still life. And that sad sad notion, my friends, claws at my careful coif like a glassy-eyed, non-blinking rodent.
UPDATE, 5:51 p.m., 30 April 2008: These windows are at Bergdorf Goodman, not Henri Bendel. Thank you to the commenter who brought this to my attention. I am clawing my brain out, rodentially, over the mix-up.