While I formulated a polite way to tell her to keep her Victorian-era commentary to herself, she began prattling on about how I might be more suited to working in a contemporary shop or perhaps a "second-hand clothing store," and asked if I had read What Color is Your Parachute, a book designed to help one choose the career they are best suited for.
First of all, my parachute is black and it didn't deploy. It got caught on someone's satellite dish just long enough to hang me before my mutilated carcass plunged to the earth. Secondly, I'll be sure to come to work tomorrow in my powdered Amadeus wig and bustle dress. Thirdly, fuuuhuhuuuck yooou.