Free Ruined by LP Lovell Page B

or pioneering and innovative. The artist isn’t before their time.  A five year old could have painted it.
    Well, quite frankly, a builder who knows shit all about fashion could have designed that dress. Clearly I know nothing.
    “Melanie can’t make it for the demo, so you’ll be replacing her.” Again, she doesn’t even look up at me. Melanie Dohl is a model.
    “You want me to model?”
    “Yes.” She finally looks up at me. “You’re a little broad, but you’re not too far off. You’ll do for today. I just need to see what the collection looks like, and what pieces we want to feature in this month’s edition.” I know what she’s doing, but seriously, she wants me to model?
    “I’m not very good with things like that.” I say awkwardly. She tilts her head forward, giving me the full on bitch look.
    “It wasn’t a request.” She looks back down at the pictures in front of her. “You can go.” She dismisses me.
    I go back to my desk and rest my forehead on it. I’m pretty sure that the term ‘human Barbie doll’ is not in my job description. If I refuse though, then she will fire me. This isn’t the first time she’s made me do something like this.
     
    I think my life just hit new lows. I’m standing here in the bloody yellow dress. The pleather, yellow dress. It’s so short, my vagina is in danger of making an appearance, and I’m pretty sure it’s a size four. I’m a size eight! My organs are so compressed, I may spring a hernia any minute.
    “Isn’t it stunning?” Jean Luc is all of five and a half foot. He’s dressed in a purple shirt and dark grey trousers. His hair is quite long and pulled back in a ponytail, and he has this ridiculous French accent to match his oh so European look. He’s a walking bloody cliche if ever I saw one.
    “It’s slutty chic.” Diane muses. No, just slutty. Funny that if this dress cost fifty quid it would be slutty, but as soon as it costs five hundred quid, it’s chic.
    “Okay, next.” She barks. Elena is another model that I often see coming in and out of here. She’s the other model for the day, except she doesn’t mind it, because it’s her job. We both turn and step out of the room. My office has been fashioned into a small dressing room. I’ve been at fittings before, and seen models literally just get naked in front of whoever. Like I say, it’s their job, they don’t care. I however, refuse to get naked in front of the tiny Frenchman…or Diane for that matter. I can only imagine what she’d say about my flat stomach. Surely it should be concaved. I’m pretty sure she wants liver definition in there.
    “That dress really is awful.” Elena whispers in her American accent, giggling.
    “Thank god it’s not just me. I thought I was just not ‘getting it’.” I cock an eyebrow.
    I pick my phone up off my desk, and press the camera button. I stretch my arm out and take a selfie, before sending it to Lilly.
    “This is so bad, it has to be shared.” I mutter.
    She laughs. “That’s so bad, I wouldn’t go sharing it.”
    Getting out of the dress is a little bit like trying to squeeze out a splinter. Painful, and hard work. The next dress is better, although the back drops so low, my underwear is showing.
    “You need to take off your panties.”
    “What? Like, totally?” She nods. I sigh and go for full on crack exposure.
    She shrugs one shoulder apologetically. “Designers.” She offers as way of explanation.
    Whole. New. Lows.
     
    I get home at six. I said I’d meet Alex for dinner at eight. I don’t normally book dates on a Monday, because no-one ever feels like going out on a Monday night. With his work schedule though, and my cancelling on him last night, I want to see him. I’m just not really feeling venturing out in public. Maybe we could just get take away here? No. That might look like I can’t be bothered, which I can’t, but I don’t want him to feel like I don’t care. God, I can totally see why Lilly