*Because sometimes, the right words just aren’t there.

Things as I see them at this precise moment in time can be pretty well summed up thusly:

I care more than I should about things that I probably shouldn’t even know about. This is what I always do and never wanted to ever do again after the last time. This makes me angry, which makes me antisocial and impossible to deal with. This means that Apple Strudel has a very clean tank complete with new pearly glass stones, and it also means that I am finding myself utterly unable to focus for any length of time in order to write the article that I was supposed to have written on Tuesday or Wednesday, (failed miserably due to Migraine) or to do any reading for my essays.

…*deep breath*.

Because I have little more of any substance to say for myself, here is a minor rant:

Today when I was at work, a woman came to the deli counter with a little girl who looked probably around six or seven years old. The first thing that irritated me in all this was the fact that the woman was wearing fierce fake nails, heavy makeup, high heels and fancy clothes –  for grocery shopping. The little girl was dressed normally (thank god); perhaps the mother had just been/had to go soon to some kind of dressy occasion? I don’t know, but I can hope.  The second thing that irritated me was that all the time as the woman was telling me which and how much (etc etc) ham she wanted, the little girl was repeatedly trying to get her attention and being completely ignored. As I was putting the stuff on the scales, the girl was watching and  trying to read out the weight of it and everything else that she could see on the screen; mother continuing to ignore.

I left the stuff on there long enough for her to read it all out to me, (-One hundred and forty-eight… erm, 148 what? –Grams. 148 grams. *encouraging smile*-One Pound Seventy-Four? –Yep, that’s right-) before wrapping it up and handing it over to the mother. Having said individual goodbyes to both, I watched mother strutting away with her nose in the air, tugging daughter impatiently behind her and still ignoring her intently. (‘Mummy, look at this, mummy. Mummy, look…’).

Mummy. Fucking pay attention to  your child, you self-absorbed, vile bitch. You brought her into this world,  stop treating her like she has no right to be in it. She’s adorable, she’s intelligent and she’s talking to you; just answer her, for Christ’s sake. 

I read somewhere very recently that the parents who listen are the parents whose children keep talking. The children who keep talking are the children who grow up intelligent, confident, emotionally mature and happy. I can believe this.

I’m not saying I know everything (or even anything, for that matter) about parenting, but it just breaks my heart seeing people bringing up children when they probably shouldn’t even be allowed to own a pet. If you spend more time putting on your eyeshadow than you do listening to what your daughter wants to tell you then clearly you have your priorities hideously wrong, and no matter how middle class you are you just should not have children.


On a lighter note… Penguin Cafe Orchestra, folks.  : )

Sorry. Happy weekend to y’all.



About Stephy

50% happy, 50% wildly uncertain. 94.7% bewildered, 78% raving mad, 4.5% awesome, 63% tea/coffee and cake. Wearing odd clothes, favouring odd points of view and Drifting Aimlessly since 1991. View all posts by Stephy

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