Spoonwaoman V Squinchwoman

Dear Diary,
Spoonwoman has been mercifully not present lately. Sometimes I think I see the specter of here there in the middle distance, only to realize that it's the reflection of a traumatic memory in the window of my mind. She haunts me. Currently there is no sign of her or her hellish torment, but I have no doubt she will return to torment me hellishly. This is Spoonwoman's raison d'etre.
To less sad tidings... a customer. Pretty, yes. French, ye... oui. We had an encount... a rendezvous which involved human interaction and currency exchange. A croissant and a baguette and a drop of youthful beaujolais. Then again, this is my delusional memory we are dealing with here, so perhaps it was a ham, cheese and tomato toasty and a bottle of coke. I really can't recall, because I was distracted. And the source of my distraction, Dear Diary? Well.
As she turned to leave she... this mademoiselle... did the most curious thing. She smiled, thanked me (merci, she said, merci beucoup), then kind of squinched both eyes shut. Fleetingly. Simultaneously. She performed what can only be described as a French Fleeting Simultaneous Eye Squinch.
And left. Without so much as an au revoir.
That eye squinch, it will haunt me. What did it mean? And if I should dream about Mademoiselle Squinch and Spoonwoman, what will happen?
As I go now into the frontier of the unconscious and enter the realm of sleep, I am nervous. For I have eaten rather a lot of cheese, and shit could get weird.
Pray for me, Dear Diary, and please come rescue me if I call your name. Especially if I am squealing things like "Get off me Spoonwoman it's horrible it's horrible!"
Until next time,
Yours,
Me.