Last night I dropped my daughter and her friend at the launch party for a new 16-19 year old nightclub(?). They both looked beautiful, having taken a long time to get ready.
As I drove up I had to chuckle. All the girls who fight so hard to look different and individual when required to wear school uniform, now, with a free-dress opportunity, all looked the same. I don't mean identical, but stylistically the same. Over 90% wore short, and I mean short, dresses. They all displayed long, long legs and had tumbling hair.
On top of this they presented as a chiropodist's dream for future wealth. There were more platforms than a mainline rail station. The heels were hypodermic sharp and raised their wearers to dizzy heights. So much so that I would not be at all surprised if some did not need oxygen before the night was out.
Not only was there likely to be long lasting damage to young feet, the risk of ankle fractures and dislocated knees as they tottered around must have been high. Goodness knows how they danced!
The boys too had their look, with most reminding me of the boys/men from "The Only Way Is Essex" or members of that band "Missing Andy" who had 15 minutes of fame on Sky last year.
Anyway I dropped them off to giggles and plenty of "OMG"s. And returned home.
At 10:30 I got a call to pick them up again, an hour earlier than expected. It seems that everything was fine, but towards the end they found it too crowded, too sweaty and there was even a suggestion that it was too loud. Are they old beyond their years? Surely those concerns are for parents, not teenagers.
I did have one further chuckle at the mateship rituals of young adults. As I waited for them to leave the club, I watched a number of couples and groups who were loitering in the surrounds. There was one couple who caught my eye. A boy and girl were on their own, talking earnestly. There was nothing particularly amorous in there actions, but something said it was more than a friendly chat. What amused me was the location. They were stood by two large green wheelie bins, the type shops put their refuse in. She was stood with her back to one, apparently leaning gently against it as he faced her. Surely they could have found a better locale?
Who said romance is dead!
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