Many are the day I would go into the bridesmaid room to see it resembling the scene from the exorcist with small children heads spinning around projectile vomiting pea soup across the room (well maybe not the vomiting).
The sign on the door says bridal shop but to a six-year-old cherub it says play barn. Swinging from the light fittings and hiding under the dresses.
Maybe it’s because I had no children at the time, (which apparently causes most mothers of small children to tilt their heads to one side as if in sympathy of my childless existence) but I cannot stand them… well not all of them but most of them.
Most are spoilt little buggers demanding chocolate and presents for simply coming into a shop and blackmail their mothers that if they don’t get the chocolate and presents they will act up in any embarrassing manor until they do.
Mothers of course bring their children as if parading them at a Miss Pears contest awaiting the ooohs and aahhs. The trouble is underneath that glow of angelic proportions is a six year old going on sixteen with all the manners and poise of a Doberman pincher. My gut instinct at most times is to await the turn of the parents head and give the little darling a quick kick up the rear end but must hold back must stay patient.
As they try on everything in the shop the girly girls go for the tulle and proceed to swing around and thrown themselves on the floor rolling around in the dog poo and chewing gum left by the previous customers pushchair. The tomboy girls hate everything and everyone and ensure that every ones life is made a misery before they storm out of the shop only to accept the role as cherub bridesmaid if she gets the latest cartoon DVD. All small children proceed to wipe their sticky hands over everything in site whilst their mother sits in a dream like state. Only when we ask them not to dangle out of the second floor window do the mothers say “don’t do that dear” in a soft high pitched sickly tone completely ignored by the demon child.
One mother this particular week had one child who insisted on kicking our floor to ceiling mirror with the heel of his shoe. When I asked the bride to tell him to stop as it was dangerous she snapped “you shouldn’t have a mirror there if it is not safe for him to lean on”. After trying to explain that it was totally safe to lean on just not to kick the living s**t out of and that this is not a “play barn” but a wedding shop she decided to leave, much to my relief.
We are left in a war like state of disarray, floor covered with broken tiara’s rails of dresses pushed every which way and hand prints and smiley face shapes drawn into the mirrors with sticky hands. It’s a real delight every time I can assure you. When they leave the shop after being absolute little s**ts we hear their mothers saying “weren’t you good Felicity, we can go to the local burger bar now as a treat”. God bless em.
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