I’m getting pretty good at the school run. Oh, do try not to snigger. I’ve perfected the art of ignoring ‘those mothers.’ The hideous Mother who NFI’d my Bubette on a playdate has taken her kid to another school. I manage to successfully act all nonchalant around the token celebrity Dad, and, most crucially I’ve still not succumbed to bronzer, or great big hair, or a Chelsea tractor, or even jodhphurs. I’m feeling pretty smug when this happens:
‘Well, Mrs Tiggy Winkles WE’VE had swearing today’
Oh dear, the teacher appears to be even more annoyed with me than on School Photos day when I told her that my daughter was 15 minutes late because she had been ‘really busy accessorising’
Uh-Oh. Bubette has uttered a profanity. At the age of 3. Somewhere posh.
I try to be cool (not laugh), yet at the same time ‘shocked’
‘Oh dear, swearing, what did Bubette say?’
Pass the Oscar.
Teacher – probably totally exasperated by me now ‘Oh, IT’S UNREPEATABLE’
Me, silently in head ‘It’ll have been fuck then’
Blimey. I don’t think I have ever felt so chastised, or small. I skulk back out to the car park and mention it to one of the other Mum’s, she laughs and shouts ‘Gold Star for parenting’ at me.
Then I take Bubette for her jabs. One in each arm. Fierce. Bubette is furious. She screams the place down. The sweet nurse offers her a well-done sticker. Bubette says this
‘You can put that in the bin, you twat’
Ok. That’s it. I rarely swear in front of Bubette, but I’m going to have to stop swearing at all times now. Set an example and, besides, it can’t actually be that difficult. Can it?
Here are a few day-to-day activities, the results of which would usually set me off on one
1. I need some socks. Plain dark grey socks. Er, why is it impossible to buy plain dark grey socks? I’m a married mother of 2 kids (one foul mouthed it now seems), I’ve got a house, a career (ahem), 2 atrociously behaved dogs, some chickens that never lay eggs and a car that I’ve only pranged once (and that was Cher’s fault). I’ve even managed to keep a goldfish alive for 3 years. So WHY would I feel the need to wear socks with Kitten’s heads appliqued on them? Or Scottie dogs? Or Glittery hearts? 6 shops later and everything is still coming up kitsch and it is just so incredibly hard not to swear…
2. I’m driving home. Sockless. A fellow driver overtakes me whilst shouting abusively out his window at me. I can’t hear what he’s saying because Snap’s ‘I’ve got the Power’ is turned up too loudly. I would usually just give this kind of abusive driver the finger, but I don’t.
3. I have to contact a tricky former boss about a project I’m working on. During the five years I worked for this person, they drummed into me over and over again how crucial it is to always get back to people. Always have the manners to respond. And they were right. And if you say you are going to do something do it. Never be flakey. It’s a value I still hold dearly, nothing does my head in more than flakiness. Needless to say said boss hasn’t replied. That was 4 months ago. I follow up, just having to do so makes me want to let rip, or just address the email ‘Dear Twatty Former Boss’. I don’t. Because I’m reformed.
4. Bubette and I go to the local literary festival. I’m taking myself really, really seriously at it when Bubette shouts this at me;
‘Mummy, are you wearing knickers today?’
Me ‘Yes’ (rather embarrassed)
Bubette ‘ Oh, is everybody wearing knickers today?’
Me ‘ I hope so’
Wow, again I remind myself that I’m reformed.
5. I decide to get a fringe cut. This is never a good idea. I do not suit a fringe. But I never learn. So, every couple of years I go through the same process. I see a photo of a fringe I like. I become convinced that it will suit me. I ask all my friends if I should get a fringe cut. They all say no. Under no circumstances. Then I get a fringe cut. I hate it .I spend a couple of months growing it out. Repeat every couple of years. This time I get it even more wrong. Knowing that fringes are tricky on me, do I go to a really good hairdresser and pay someone to do the best job possible? No, I go to the local kid’s hairdresser and pay £3. Yes, that’s right I pay £3 for a fringe and rather predictably the fringe looks like I paid £3 for it… I don’t even have anything to clip it back with so have to borrow one of Bubette’s hair slides. Yes, that’s right I spend the next few days going about my business with various comedy children’s hair slides gripping my £3 fringe back.
6. Kanye West has been kicking off about fashion etc etc blah blah blah. I had to deal with him a few times, except I didn’t deal with him. In fact there was a DPS (double page spread darlings) of me and Kanye before a fashion show I was ‘organising’. Yes, that’s right a double page spread of Kanye waiting to be seated and me pretending to look at my clipboard so I didn’t have to deal with him. A rather beautiful, panoramic black and white shot IN NEW YORK MAGAZINE. IN NEW YORK MAGAZINE. Ever messed up at your job? Ever been caught? By NEW YORK magazine? In a DPS?
I’d like to call Kanye a deluded wanker for his comments, I’d like to criticize his fashion, but I’m conscious that right now, I am writing this with a roller-skating cat clipped on my head so I daren’t, and, besides I’m not swearing… I’m reformed…