**Diary Entry**
Ill never forget the day old Mrs. Whitmore walked into the bridal boutique where I worked. Ive always fancied myself a man of tasteonly the finest gowns, the most exclusive clientele. A bit snobbish, perhaps, but in my line of work, appearances matter.
That afternoon was slowjust me and my colleague, Lucy, minding the shop. Then in she came: Mrs. Whitmore, with her worn-out coat and messy grey bun. Not exactly the sort we usually catered to in Knightsbridge. But bless her, she didnt care for flashy things. Lived modestly, worked as a nursehardly a reason to step into a place like ours.
Still, shed decided her summer wedding would be special. The moment she entered, I took one look and went straight back to my phone.
Blimey, I muttered to Lucy. Looks like someone took a wrong turn on their way to the charity shop. That hairstyle alonewhat a fright.
Thats out of order, Tom, Lucy snapped. Shes a customer. Help her.
I ignored her, tapping away at my screen. Mrs. Whitmore shuffled over, all politeness.
Excuse me, young man, could you assist me? she asked kindly.
What dyou want? I grunted, still not looking up.
Theres no call for rudeness, she replied. Im after a wedding dress. Im getting married
Listen, love, I cut in, sighing. Lets not waste time. Judging by that coat, you cant afford a cuppa in here. Theres a second-hand shop down the roadtry there.
She raised an eyebrow. Oh? You reckon that, do you?
Just being honest, sweetheart, I said with a shrug.
Well, she said calmly, if you wont respect me as a customer, at least respect your elders.
Yeah, right, I muttered.
Just then, a posh-looking woman swept indesigner handbag, heels clicking. I sprang up like a show pony.
Afternoon, madam! Absolutely divine to see you. How may I assist? I gushed.
Lucy returned from the stockroom, spotted Mrs. Whitmores downcast face, and marched straight over.
Hello there! Have you been seen to yet? she asked warmly.
No, dear. Your colleague seems to think Im beneath him, Mrs. Whitmore said, nodding at me.
Ignore him, Lucy said, linking arms with her. Now, what are we looking for?
A summer wedding, Mrs. Whitmore beamed. And I want the works.
Lucy led her to the finest gowns while I schmoozed the influencer, who pranced about in eight dressessnapping selfies in each before shrugging.
Er which one are you taking? I asked through clenched teeth.
Oh, none, she chirped. Just needed some Instagram content. Cheers!
I nearly choked. You what?
She smirked and flounced out.
Then I turnedand my stomach dropped. At the till, Mrs. Whitmore was counting out crisp £50 notes, paying in full for the most expensive dress in the shop. She even left Lucy a £4,000 tip.
Blimey thats quite the gratuity, I stammered.
Quite the gratuity? A moment ago, I was love and sweetheart, she said coolly.
II didnt realise
Realise what? she cut in. That I wasnt some penniless old biddy? You know what they say about judging books by their covers.
My face burned. She turned to Lucy with a smile.
Thank you, dear. See you at the wedding?
Wouldnt miss it, Lucy said.
As Mrs. Whitmore left, I stood there like a right prat.
What just happened? I mumbled.
Lucy shook her head. Shes marrying a bloke she nursed back to health. Turns out hes loadedhad no idea till he proposed.
I felt two inches tall. Lucy clapped me on the back.
Lesson learned, eh? Next time, keep your opinions to yourself.
That summer, Lucy danced at Mrs. Whitmores wedding. A proper fairy-tale affair.
**Lesson?** Dont be a berk. I lost out because I judged her by her coat and her age. Had I treated her right, Id have been £4,000 richerand maybe even on the guest list.
Moral of the story? Never underestimate people. You never know whos got a fortune tucked awayor whos about to marry into one.
