If it said anything about some of her artistic predilections, Katchoo hadn't paid the splotches of color on her hands any mind on her walk to work; she was just that relieved not to have her phone blaring That Frikkin' Song over and over again, and yet dubiously eyeing it just in case it decided to buck the trend of single-day randomness. (It was her phone. She strongly suspected it of picking up her perverse streak.)

When she did get to the store, though, and caught a glimpse of her festively color-streaked face reflected in several pieces of glass down the framing aisle . . . let's just say her face and hands paled in comparison to the language (if you could call it that) coming out of her mouth.

Only for a minute or so, and then she had to retreat behind the counter and start to laugh. Because really -- what else could you do? Frikkin' island. At least she could listen to music today; when she turned on the radio, she found a traditional Christmas music station. Not her first pick, but now out of sheer curiosity she decided to listen, just to see if they played a vocal arrangement of the Coventry Carol where you could actually make out the words.

[OOC: I was trying not to eat all of the box of dark chocolate-covered shortbread star cookies I got at Trader Joe's a few days ago, so I ate the OCD instead.]