Fashion Show Fittings (Oh, joy.)

Oh, goody.

A gaggle of school-children, incessantly giggling and chattering excitedly about banalities and trivial things. Can there be anything more inane? And luckily, I have to deal with a lot of them. A lot of them who need fitted for their fashion show, which they no doubt are organising solely so they get to model clothing. They rush in here like an advance on a country, and act like divas. I wouldn't be surprised if a letter of demands was delivered before they arrive: "Please spray the fitting rooms with the latest Britney fragrance, leave the newest issue of "Bliss" or "Sugar" out, and chill some Capri-suns."

Well, it seems my dislike of children now extends to those a mere few years younger than I - I can't help but think these are the worst kinds of children. They are the ones who don't comprehend the fact that they are, in fact, still children.

That said, I'm constantly surprised by the amount of people that see me as adult. When I'm asked how long I've owned the shop for, I can't control my laughter. Imagine, me - owning a shop... Incomprehensible. I haven't been asked for ID in a very long time. Soon the hair dyes will be a thing of necessity, rather than a whim. The tans will be to cover the veins and sagging skin. I'll have to save up for veneers. I mean, I spent my Friday night at the swimming pool in the "adults only" time. There were three of us. All too adult to do other, more wild, things with their Friday nights. That's got to be a bad sign.

They'll be here soon. "I don't want to wear that colour! I want a short one! No, I want THAT one!" - "That one's a size 2." - "I'll get into it" - "No, you won't. Here's a size 12." Then there's the girls that don't think things through. They stand at 5ft tall and choose the longest possible dress in the shop, which will trail for metres behind them. Effective, if you want to practice walking down the aisle in your bedroom when you're eight, but not very helpful when you have to trapse down the catwalk, turn, pose, and go back. Tripping and stumbling isn't graceful on a catwalk, and trip you will.

The last fashion show I worked, I was a dresser. One of the girls had been fitted for a steel-boned corset. Great, if you have time to get her into it prior to the show. Not great if she has a two-minute change and you're literally standing next to the stage while she's topless and you're trying to get the corset unhooked and onto her in the sixty remaining seconds, and then lace her into place...We managed, but it was a bit too rushed - there was a 75% chance she'd have walked the catwalk half-naked.

Maybe I miss being a teenager. Maybe I'm bitter because that time goes by too quickly, and all of a sudden you're talking about "when I was young" and "when I was at school." Maybe it's because they're the most irritating people ever. Maybe I'm building this up because of past experience. Maybe they'll be lovely. And maybe they just won't show up...