Taking the children to school is an odd experience. Some of the other parents are friendly, some are not, most are shy and perfectly nice when you talk at them. One, who shares my love of trains and whose wee boy is my two's bestest chum, tells me I am the only parent ever to have spoken to him. (It seems dads are scary. My other half certainly hates feeling like a pariah). But everyone seems very nice and not actually as scary as they seemed last year when we were the new guys.
Today I met the most friendly parent (grandparent actually) ever, who told me she was a gypsy, because like, I need to know the social demographic of everyone I converse with. Her I met for the very first time, which for her seemed appropriate to ask me if I was pregnant, then follow that up with, oh it's just you really look pregnant (thanks, I spent the last year becoming not overweight and how the hell can I look pregnant in a belted mac?) followed up with a discussion about twins and a request to see my caesarean scar (er, let me see, how about: not on your life, you freak!!)
And was I foreign? (no, I just pronounce all my consonants)
Cross examination as to my exact plans (go to baker, buy roll, go home, fill roll, eat roll) which was most amusing somehow. A roll? Heh heh. What a wit I am!
After everyone that I said hello to, "do you know them?" (no, I too speak to complete strangers) and when one was my approximately 20 year old neighbour, "ooh, lucky you". (He was most pleased to discover this).
No, I'm not nice, I didn't ever claim to be. Don't speak to me. Unless you're a mad freak, in which case join the queue.
Thursday 11 March 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
OMG! There's friendly and there's friendly.
I try to have my phone calls 'planned' if such situations arise. Don't feel the least bit silly for using inner-monologue, non-existing-dodge-the-nutter type calls in public!
Good Luck!
Post a Comment