A Matter of Quality

That shiny silver cylinder wasn't going to inspect itself. I hopped onto my feet, smoothed the front of my coat with an exaggerated sigh, and clamped both stubby hands around the cap. With a firm, decisive tug, the top slid off with a satisfying click. Inside stood a pristine, slanted bullet of berry-red lip color. I delivered a soft, approving snort. The tone was exquisite, perfectly suited for high standards like mine. I propped the open tube upright against the woven carpet weave to admire the glossy sheen in the afternoon light, thoroughly vindicated by its sheer elegance.