You know where this is going already, don't you, Dearly Beloved?
The teen was playing a 1940s nurse. The costume fit, according to the measurements, and according to the way nurse's uniforms fit in those bygone days. The Mommy called, wanting us to take it in and up. "She's the Love Interest," she said, "she's supposed to look Sexy." Dearly Beloved, most parents don't want their teens looking more sexy than they have to, on stage. This one wanted her daughter to look like a nurse out of a p-o-r-n movie! Mommy took the costume somewhere to have it altered, because Ramona refused to do it.
After the show was over, she tried to return the costume without cleaning it. When Ramona told her (again) that it had to be cleaned, she was grumbling about having to have the alterations removed. Ramona said it was OK to return it with the alterations still in it. The costume was due back on Saturday last.
Mommy called today, asking when we closed for lunch. I told her (that information was on her invoice, too), and she whined and whinged and asked me if we could Give Up Part of Our Lunch Hour, because their lives were just so crazy that between 1 and 2 was the only time in the Foreseeable Future that they could make it to the shop to return the costume. I explained that we could not do that, while the Mommy was telling somebody over her shoulder that we Wouldn't stay, Not Even for a Minute.
I was polite, even apologetic, but firm, and as immovable as the proverbial rock. I suggested that she mail the costume, and she said that would be Quite a Box, and proceeded to list all the pieces of the costume. I helpfully told her that the Post Office does ship large packages.
She was still enumerating all the things she had Gone Through for the sake of that one Costume, when I politely excused myself and hung up.
Bitch! You managed to find the time to come and pick it up, complaining all the way...now you can bestir your bad self and return it. And I sincerely hope we NEVER have to do business with you again.