Since moving to the countryside and becoming a mother, I have encountered some of the most odious women ever invented. I should also make it very clear that I have also met some of the most wonderful women and both myself and Bubette have a firm circle of lovely friends.
Sadly, life dictates that we have to venture outside of this circle of lovely women and it is, sometimes on these occasions that we encounter said odious women.
Here are 3 examples of these women and their barmy behaviour in the past week. Hold tight;
We’ve just finished Bubette’s music class when I notice a mother I haven’t see for a year (completely on purpose, due to the fact that she’s an utter cow) gurning at me with the look of a salivating bloodhound. Shit, she’s by the door, there’s no other escape. I walk towards her bracing myself for whatever she plans to throw at me this time.
And she’s doing a really big teethy false smile at me. Excellent.
Here’s the ‘conversation’;
Me; ‘Hi, it’s good to see you, how are you?’
Her (adopting repulsed face) ‘Oh. my. GOD, you are SO skinny, Oh. dear’
Me (silently in head) ‘WTF? I’m 7 months pregnant, hasn’t she not noticed?’
Me to her ‘Really? I’m pregnant, I doubt I’m skinny’
Her (now adopting repulsed tone) ‘Really? Well YOUR face is so thin’ (in case I don’t understand this clearly, she drags both hands down her face really, really slowly and sucks her cheeks in).
The thing is here, reader, not meaning to piss on this woman’s fire or anything, but I worked in fashion for 15 years, therefore telling me I look skinny and my face looks ‘so thin’ is actually a great big, massive complement. So, although I know she doesn’t mean it like that, I decide to take it like that.
Me; ‘Wow, thanks, that’s great to hear, and again, it’s lovely to see you’
That’s her fire totally out.
I’ve become sort of friendly with a Mum I’ve seen around for a few years. Not playdate friendly, but friendly enough for chats when we bump into each other. She’s a very wealthy full time yummy Mummy. Our daughters are the same age, they cross over at certain ballet / swimming type activities. She’s always lovely and upbeat.
I bump into her in a hardware store. Here’s the conversation;
Her ‘I am in your area tomorrow’
Me ‘Brilliant here’s my number, give me a call and we can get the girls together for a play’
Her ‘ Yes mine would LOVE that, how sweet. I didn’t see you last week at swimming / ballet etc?’
Me ‘No I was working (her face drops) in London (her chin is now on the floor), Bubette stayed at my parents, as I don’t have childcare (somebody just told her the fairies at the bottom of her garden aren’t real).
Her ‘Oh, urgh’
She never calls. And the next time she sees me she is curtly polite but doesn’t stop to chat. The next time after that I see her she is arranging a playdate with another wealthy full time yummy Mummy.
THE SCHOOL RUN, ARGH, THE MOTHERFUCKING SCHOOL RUN. WHERE DO THEY GET THESE TWATTY WOMEN FROM?
And wow, doesn’t the sunshine bring all the bitches to the playground.
My Bubette, age 3 spends a few mornings in a nursery school. This nursery school is excellent, Bubette loves it there, the teachers are wonderful, but the mothers, oh my word, the mothers, THOSE WOMEN.
I’m not sure at which point one’s life becomes so vacuous that the key part of it, the part you put the most effort into is ‘the school run look’ and hanging out in the school car park next to your Chelsea Tractor talking utter crap like how beautiful Dido’s new single is, and how Boden have a chatroom where you can swap Victoria sponge recipes to other impeccably groomed mothers, whilst staring down anyone who dares look at you.
Anyway, here’s what happened to me yesterday, and forgive me, but I’m still trying to work this one out…
My Bubette has a circle of 3 close friends at nursery. One of the little girls also shares the same first name. Lets call her Bubette 2.
Bubette 2′s mother is lovely and we often have a chat, in fact we are chatting when another mother from Bubette’s circle of friends – let’s call this little girl Bunty and her mother appear.
Bunty’s mother (blanking me and Bubette), ‘Oh hiiiiii are you Bubette 2′s Mummy?‘
Bubette’s 2′s mother ‘ Yes, you must be Bunty’s Mummy’
Bunty’s mother ‘Yes, and Bunty just loves Bubette 2, (the emphasis here I must stress is on the surname, she is making a point she is NOT under any circumstances just in case I think she might be including me or my Bubette) and she really really wants me to arrange a playdate at our house’
Please note Bubette and I are standing there within the same 4ft space. Bunty’s mother totally knows we are listening and that they are friends and she still totally doesn’t give a shit, well she does, doesn’t she, she wants to make me feel inferior. She’s like one of those kids who shares their sweets with everyone but you just to try and make you think she’s more important, but that’s a kid, this is a grown woman.
They carry on arranging the playdate, exchanging numbers / addresses etc whilst ignoring us.
Meanwhile Bunty and my Bubette stand here awkwardly staring at each other.
It is then the full horror of this strikes me; Bubette understands that a playdate is being arranged with her 2 best friends in front of her and she is Not Fucking Invited.
Urgh, whatta bitch mother. I’m raging. I’m used to this sort of woman trying to make me feel like shit, but a 3 year old…
I cannot tell you how much I want to tell this excuse for a mother what I think of her, but as my regular readers will know I’ve read too many buddhist books and I know that sad little fuckers like this woman thrive on reaction, and drama – there isn’t much else in their lives.
Instead of hate I occupy my thoughts with why this is happening and let’s be honest here, it is totally about me isn’t it, because she’s choosing the mother’s she wants to network with, she’s not just choosing who her daughter wishes to play with.
And, why hasn’t she chosen me?
1.Is it because I worked (a very filthy word amongst this sort of mother) over the Easter hols, therefore I don’t have a tan from Mauritius like most of this clique seem to?
2.Or because I talk instead of bray?
3.Do I reek of having lived in London for years and having had a career, and not being a product of the local boarding schools bred to marry within the local toffs?
4.Can she tell just by looking at me that I bake really, really shitty cakes?
5.Or could it simply be because I’m not wearing a maxi skirt?
Who knows? I personally think it’s a heady combination of all 5 reasons, with a huge dollop of toss thrown in.
I’m upset, I’m upset for me, but I’m mostly upset for Bubette. And I’m very confused. Do I really want Bubette in a school like this? But it’s such a great school. Bubette loves it. But do I really want her in an environment where women behave like this?
I’m completely unsure of what to do.
I’m also 7 months pregnant and very hormonal.
I drop Bubette into her classroom and then I have a really good cry in the car on the way home. Well I cry until ‘Born to Run’ comes on Radio Stepford, then I quickly get over myself, belting out ‘Together Wendy we can live with the sadness, I’ll love you with all the madness in my soul hu-uuuuuhhhhh’ in the glorious sunny English countryside.
When I get home I tweet the following to Gill Hornby who has written a book called ‘The Hive’ which is ‘based on the bee-like hierarchy of middle class mothers at a fictional primary school’ I cannot wait to read this book and so I ask Gill;
‘When is your book out @GillHornby ? And, crucially will it help me make sense of, or laugh at the barmy school run behaviour I encounter ?
Lovely Gill tweets straight back ‘Out on May 23, thank you for asking. And I very sincerely hope it will do both’
So do I Gill, so do I….because the mind boggles…