Lost in Translation

Miriam reached into her bag, searching for a lipstick. "Ouch" she muttered, as she pulled out a bloodied fingertip. So, that's where her Blondie pin was. One last check in the mirror: Adjusting the top, no pantie lines, hair quietly disheveled, make-up's o.k. One glance at the clock told her if she didn't leave now that she would be late for work.

Marcel fumbled for the right fit of key-to-keyhole. Where was she? Aha, a note.
"I'll be home later. If you are a burglar, take anything you like. But you can't have my time or my mind, I've already lost those."
He was not amused.