Sorry For The Rant, But…

I live directly opposite my village’s primary school.

I have never quite been able to understand why an apparent majority of parents of the young children in the village (and I’m sure the same goes for children attending their local primary schools everywhere) choose to drive said offspring to school when said school cannot possibly more than around a ten-minute walk away.

That’s right, Mums and Dads; I’m suggesting that it would be better for you to (shock, horror) get off your fat lazy arses and walk your young ones to school. Put one foot in front of the other a few times a day. It probably won’t kill you, and it definitely won’t kill the kid(s). And if it is likely to kill you that’s probably in large part due to the fact that it’s been so long since you last did such a thing – which would account for how your lazy ass got so fat. I mean, is there any wonder childhood obesity is a growing problem in this country? By chauffeuring your brats to and from the other end of the same damn road you live on you are encouraging them to be incredibly lazy too.

No you are not pushed for time, and no you will not be late for work; getting up ten minutes earlier to allow for a casual hundred-metre stroll will not kill you any more than will the use of your legs’ full potential.

If your children happen to be older than, say, eight; why can’t they walk to school by themselves or with other children who live nearby? This is a small village and there are plenty of other kids and parents going the same way; nothing terrible will happen to them so long as they possess a shred of common sense and you’ve taught them such essentials as look-both-ways-and-listen-for-traffic-before-crossing-roads, and don’t-talk-to-strangers.

(This is a village. Everyone knows everyone’s business. There basically are no strangers, anyway).

Perhaps your ass isn’t fat and lazy; perhaps you’re one of those who drive your kids to school because you find it difficult to walk in those new Prada heels and that figure-hugging pencil skirt you’re desperate to show off – crowning glory as they are of the ‘yummy mummy’ image you’re trying to project.

Or perhaps you want to show us all how well-off and respectable you are through the medium of that fancy new car you’re driving?

Well I’m sorry, but unfortunately for your maxed-out credit card/chief exec hubby, most of us don’t give two hoots about that stuff either. At least, not beyond wishing you’d move your status symbol from across the bottom of our drive so we can get the youngest members of our own family to their school (six miles away – does not provide a bus service to this locality) on time. And we’d appreciate you doing so without the (excessively-lipsticked) stuck-up-bitch pout, please. Thanks.

Roar.

.

Rant Over. Hastily-Carved-Cat-(mini)Pumpkin:

~xx~