I Dont Work

I think I was born with an allegy to work. If I dont have to do it, then I wont. I mean I know at some point I'm going to have buck up and get out there and live, but when it comes to working - like having a job - I'm pretty pathetic. I've only had one job in the 18 years I've been alive (minus the occasional babysitting gigs I get) and that was working in Miss Selfridges. Guhh. I hated it. My boss - a 26 year old, fake plantinum haired, bitch who used to make me hoover every.fucking.night - and I got off to a rough start from the word go. The problem is I hate being told what to do, like, I really cannot stand it. So when it came to working somewhere where I detested with an annoying as hell boss it just cued disaster and thus my outlook on working was set in stone. But now my parents are threatening that if I dont get a job soon then I'm out. I know they're joking. I think... but it did make me realise I do kinda need to get my butt into gear. I keep using the excuse that I have my final A Levels coming up in summer and I need time to revise. Fuck that! If theres one thing worse than getting a job its the prospect of sitting in all day revising. There's no where I've actually wanted to work - people have different ideas of where'd they prefer to work in between college. I was clueless. Until last week. I was out with my right hand man, Oliver, and we came across this small, white washed boutique which sold all sorts of gorgeous looking french furnitue. Its one of those stores that you barely notice until you actually see it and realise its home to the most amazing looking trinkets and goodies. So I want to work there. Which is why when my colds finally buggered off and left me alone I'm going - CV in hand - and will try and land the job. That is, of course, if they're hiring...