Raindrops on Roses and Stuffed Animals in Windows

My coworker (we'll call her Yvonne for the purposes of this post) has a stuffed Smurf wedged into the ledge where the windshield and driver door meet. She's 33, maybe even 34, and I don't get it. To be honest, I never have. How does a self-respecting person with a career decide that

"You know what my car needs? A stuffed animal in the window. That's how I'll complete my look."

Needless to say, I try to like this girl. Yvonne has her good side, but the dingy-I'm-so-spacey routine wears thin about 30 seconds into her high-pitched tinkling laugh. Bottom line is that most ditzy people kinda drive me ape-shit. They drive me double ape-shit (I have a feeling there are more descriptive terms, but we'll stick with that one) when, clearly, an individual with a Master's degree has a lick of sense that they are choosing not to use. . . or to broadcast that they have. And how the hell do you go into social work and then not want to go to 'gross' places, like county healthcare doctor's offices? Isn't that contra-indicated on the job description?

Yvonne also requires a GPS to locate places that she frequents. And she smacks. Loudly. MAJOR irritation. And she has little-to-no initiation or follow-through unless someone leads her by her sweet little hand through the minutia of a process that is printed out in front of her.

Remember how I said that I try to like Yvonne? I think this post is my realization that phase has officially come to a close. The stuffed animal in the window should have been my tip-off long ago.