The Monster family and I happen to live in a lovely village/town community with a fab array of independent shops on the main street (as well as some bigger dickhead custom stealing middlies). Today, they served to remind me that perhaps not ALL of the public at large are tosspots.
We experienced a rare delight today as Husband Dearest was working on a site in the village and was therefore home from work mid-afternoon. Around the same time, the Monsters went full-on shitbag bonkers, and we knew we needed to leave the house before someone said something they
were thinking but shouldn’t say and the kids ended up in care.
Having offered to do a cake for someone, I knew I needed some sugar paste. (I know I sound like a master baker in this blog- I promise I am NOT!) Our fabulous little village has a cake makers shop so off we strode, en famille. Upon arriving at the lovely shop, my son declared he was afraid of ‘The Highway Rat’ (the Highway Rat in Julia Donaldson’s The Highway Rat spends his eternity sweeping crumbs in a cake shop, following a spate of rather anti-social behaviour). Instead of giving him a funny look and pretending not to hear, the shop owner took great delight in hearing about the story and reassured him that no rodents roamed the floorboards. A little less apprehensive, Monster Major progressed to touching everything possible, whilst Monster Minor continued knocking over and pulling everything possible. Rather than grunt and huff and puff, this lovely lady asked the boys whether they liked cake, and upon a blank, blinking response, returned with a bowl of cake off-cuts. Obviously, the Monsters then knew this woman was a Cakey Goddess, and I could peruse the shop in peace, safe in the knowledge that Mrs Wonderful Sponge was entertaining my gremlins with her moist, light goodness (ugh, a little sick in my mouth). When I had made my purchases, my little men were still demanding cake, rather unpolitely. Monster Major, being a stippler for manners, etiquette and all things rules, quickly remembered his ps and qs, but Monster Minor continued to thrust his mitt at Mrs Kipling with a stubborn glare. I embarrassedly
pleaded reminded him of his manners. Most people at this point become equally embarrassed and quickly mumble some excuse like ‘Oh he’s only little,’ (I know but he’s also a TWAT) and give them what they want to save causing a scene; leaving the lesson unlearnt and your parenting appearing too harsh. Madame Lovely Buns heroically supported my cause and stood resolute, firmly withholding cake until we got that indignant ‘Peas’. What a bloody diamond.
Next we headed to the sweet shop, where Monster Major could spend his pocket money
that he got for doing jack shit. Of course he wanted organic, ethically-farmed, additive-free courgetti. Jokes, he went for some ‘chocolate’ flavour sugar/veg fat hybrid formed into rounds and covered in e-number rich sprinkles (aka Jazzies). I winced as his snot stained paws caressed each sweet, painstakingly choosing which ones would grace the white paper bag. I nervously and apologetically glanced towards Mrs Sweet Shop, expecting a judgemental shake of the head and a passive-aggressive tut. But no, she smiled back, fondly, and welcomed my excited bundle to the counter to pay for his bounty. She made some cheerful comment and took the 20p and not a sigh was exchanged at the germs left on the sugary delights. (Though this does beg the question – how many other toddlers have fondled/sneezed/ licked/hugged what my child is about to devour!?)
On the walk home that followed, cars stopped to let us cross the side roads, people moved aside to allow us to pass (at snails’ pace) and people smiled at us Monster family. It was very idyllic; very suburban, sickeningly pleasant and the stuff I’d scoff at on TV.
To top it all off, Husband Dearest is gunning for a shag tonight, so he packed me off to my room with a glass of wine, promising to sort the kids out for the rest of the night. SCORE! (Well for me, at least!)
So perhaps people aren’t so shit after all.