Disappointing.

Dammit, maybe all that real-people work is causing Naomi to repent, after all.

How else can we explain three straight days of dressing like Brandon Lee in The Crow to an abrupt foray into the realm of, dare I call it ladylike with a purple satin ruffle, tie-front long-sleeve, wide-legged denim Hepburn trousers and barely-clearing-three-inches mahogany patent-toe granny booties?

Even Miss Naomi's bag is downplayed on day four. Instead of a highly-polished calfskin Fendi satchel, that canvas thing she's toting around probably barely set her back a single "G."

The only way you'd know you were dealing with a hard-core, doesn't-give-a-flip-what-you-think bitch are the fierce Versace shades, the slung-over-the-shoulder army boots and the cropped fur coat, which, given that it was in the mid-50s this morning in Manhattan makes it the hardest core of the hard-core outfit components.

I'm not too worried yet, but if she reports to work tomorrow, her last day, with beachy highlights, a Greek nose, a pre-packaged Zone meal and some weepy statement about how great it is to have supportive friends in times of need, my nascent relationship with Ms. Campbell will be, to use the apropos SoCal phrasing of "Laguna Beach's" Kristen Cavallari, "dunzo."