Years ago I worked in a library - in the record department a very alluring teenage colleague loaned tapes to lustful young men all day. On her day off they'd halt, disconsolate, at the door and mutter, 'It's not her' or a single sad, 'Oh!'. This was a little deflating for those of us who stood in for her occasionally.
Fast forward two decades and sometimes potential customers, probably looking for cupcakes, push open the door of Three Bags Full and mutter 'Oh, it's just wool in here!'. Just wool? Whatever do they mean? - an oxymoron if ever I heard one.