"Do we owe you for any extra days??"

$8.47. That is the grand total of my bank account till pay day.

A New York reality is quickly settling in: Poverty. Perhaps not the real variety that will keep me from shelter and food, but the kind that puts a serious damper on fun, Christmas shopping, and other necessities a young city girl needs in this sprawling metropolis. Not to mention "Art Director Shoes" as my former boss likes to call them -- something pointy, black, and preferably with a stiletto.

I had managed to allow myself one last luxury this morning before fiscal smack down begins (a medium house coffee from Cafe Angelique for all of $1.67), but it was sloshing out of the narrow hole in the top of the container, dripping onto the floor of the elevator as it sped up to the eigth floor. And as I thrust my hand away from my trousers to prevent any drips on my clothes, I noticed someone in the elevator carrying a Christopher Radko shopping bag.

This is where I get indignant.

I can't believe that there is someone out there who has made a fortune just on designing Christmas ornaments. If you asked me, a designer, where the money was, I would say not in designing Christmas ornaments. And now I ask, how can I get a piece of this action?

A girl can't live on $8.47 forever.