Although I like to paint myself on this blog as some kind of Bohemian, middle-aged rebel, the reality couldn’t be further from the truth.
The absolute best thing about writing is that you can invent the person you’d like to be.
I aspire be a wild woman – a Courtney Love or Madonna-type – but I’m the one that always gets caught when I try to live anywhere close to life on the edge. I hate getting into trouble and confrontation of any sort is a slow and painful death for me.
I’m just not cool enough.
I’ve worked out that it’s not cool to be Bridget Jones when you’re middle-aged. The kids hate it when I pull out my 3D glasses in a restaurant to read the menu or when I forget about oncoming traffic or am late for parents evening.
I was the one that got caught allowing the Princess to take a sneaky wee on the communal lawn of ‘the block’, (because it was pissing down and I wanted to get the whole torture over as quick as possible).
(Unfortunately the Princess’s bladder constricts when she sees water: unlike her mother’s).
Which meant I became the latest victim of the bitch of the block – that bottle-blonde rich bitch with her perfect coiffed white Pomeranian (who probably shits on the fucking toilet for all I know) who thought it was her right to provide me with a ten-minute lecture on the bi-laws of the building.
I’m that terrified of confrontation, I don’t even use McDonalds toilets unless I’ve bought something to eat there.
I’m the mum who gets a ticket if I go over one minute in a 1P parking zone, while all the other mums at the school gate can gossip for hours and don’t even know what a traffic warden is.
I was the student in Maths class in Year 10 who was moved up to the A group for good work and even given an award at assembly – until they worked out I had copied the answers out of the back of the book. Within three days I was demoted back into B group via the walk of shame through the maths department.
I was the irresponsible woman who due to an immediate and life-saving need to quell my hangover during our Aldi food shop on Sunday, managed to spray the entire aisle of shoppers with warm fizzy mineral water, such was my haste to re-hydrate.
I already have a criminal record at Aldi – for trying to secrete alcohol through a non-alcohol till and packing my bags prior to paying.
Like I said, I always get caught and it sucks.
I wish I was cool like my friends who can sneak wine into no-alcohol events without my give-away red face and uncontrollable sweating. I wish I had the audaciousness to use my female guile to get what I want – even though I’m a feminist – instead of collapsing into a ball of ugly anxiety whenever I’m confronted.
I want to be cool. I always wanted to be that person who could live on the edge, got away with it and then somehow came out the other side looking impossibly cooler. Not the one who gets caught red-handed, is reprimanded like a child, shown to be a monster and made a public example of.
Do you always get caught? Or are you too cool for middle-aged school?