"Good mornin', I'm Doctah Ha'leen Quinzel" Harleen recited for the fourteenth time in her thick Brooklyn accent to her own reflection.
She let out an exasperated sigh at her obnoxious dialect. How would she ever be respected if she couldn't even take herself seriously? She bit her plump bottom lip, harshly scraping her teeth against the tender flesh, before clearing her throat and trying again.
"Good morning. I am Doctor Harleen Quinzel." It was better, but still, staring back at her was just a little girl playing dress up.
Her golden hair was pulled neatly back into a tight bun. She had worked meticulously on the tiny poof adorning her forehead, convinced it added height to her petite frame. Her gaze examined the slant of her cheek bone to the perimeter of her heart shaped face. Her make-up appeared natural enough, the same delicate attention to detail given to application as her hair, but it still made her feel sticky and clownish.
She continued to scrutinize herself, eying the way her skin stretched over her neck, her clavicles, and her modest bosom.
How much cleavage is too much? She mused, buttoning then unbuttoning the stark-white polyester blouse.
Her form-fitting black pencil skirt rested at her natural waist and accentuated her full hips and taut thighs, stopping right above her knees. It would almost be too much if it were any shorter. This realization confirmed her decision to fasten the second to top button on her shirt. She teetered in her crimson kitten heels, again, hoping the addition to her height would gain her leverage in her new work environment.
Harleen glanced over her business attire- her costume- one more time while nodding her head conceding to the fact that this was as good as it was going to get, and really it wasn't half bad. She leaned forward placing her puckered lips against the cool surface of the mirror and accentuated her kiss with a loud smack. A quiet giggle bubbled up at her own self indulgence.