Therapy

Posted by dulwichmum on Sat 30 June 2007

One day I shall be exposed no doubt with my little Smythson notebook, summarising the entertaining situations I observe on the number 3 bus. I do it all for you…

A young girl with great yellow hair extensions and an enormous Primark shopping bag was occupying the row in front of me when I sat down on the upper deck yesterday morning. After a couple of stops Lauren expressed surprised delight on being joined by a girl with a short trendy bob and the two exchanged enthusiastic kisses and hugs.

I will simply tell you the gist of the conversation as I have translated it, I could not begin to attempt to transcribe the exact words of their conversation – how would one even begin to spell the greeting “Watcha”?

Eventually, salutations complete the girls settled down into a conversation;

“And what are you doing for the summer holidays?” asked Courtney. “I am hoping to get work experience, I want to be a beauty therapist!” screeched Lauren.

“Wicked,” said Courtney (she actually did say this, and I could understand it and spell it too!).

“I haven’t decided what to specialise in yet,” said Lauren, “but I could do nails, aromatherapy, thalassotherapy, physiotherapy, waxing, psychotherapy or reiki healing.”

“Wow,” replied Courtney.

“Physiotherapy is very competitive now, because everyone knows that footballers wives make a packet, and even David Beckham has a physio, they only let the prettiest girls on that course, I will have to pay serious attention to my diet,” asserted Lauren.

“Really? Wow” said Courtney.

“Yes,” said Lauren, “so I will be learning silk wraps and gels from this September – just to get me started.”

“You have it all planned out then,” lamented Courtney, “I hadn’t given my career much thought”…

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 Survival of the fittest

Posted by dulwichmum on Fri 29 June 2007

Last night the parents from Freya’s delightful class took the two super teachers out for a thank you supper. James and I were the first to arrive and selected seats directly opposite each other, we so seldom have a chance to talk anymore.

Soon the other parents began to arrive and the restaurant buzzed with merry chatter as the wine flowed. Imogen sat next to me while two other glamorous mums sandwiched my husband on the opposite side of the table. Soon the conversation turned to the issues involved when considering whether to have a third child. Lovely Imogen is four months pregnant.

“You really are the clever girl,” enthused Nathalie and Helena. Leaving a five year gap between all three of Imogen’s children apparently means that her oldest child Felix will be 15 years old before Imogen must seriously consider living without a nanny. Apparently there is no justification for keeping a nanny after the youngest child sets foot in pre-prep at age five, as this is regarded to be “serious au pair territory.”

The girls begged me to describe how I endure the hardship of allowing a young pert girl with limited English to live in my home. I smiled a lot and said little. “Au pairs come from countries where a man is considered wealthy if he owns a goat or a clock radio,” insisted Nathalie.

“How can you leave your home for a coffee with friends, knowing she is at home with your man?” she asked in horror. “Nannies are older,” Nathalie insisted, “you can choose one that is ugly and far more capable.” Apparently one can not trust an au pair to drive a car or even collect the dry cleaning.

The three girls agreed that it was not until one’s family is complete, that a woman could even consider “post birth reconstructive surgery” (breast lift/implants and tummy tuck). Helena laughed as she described her personal fitness regime, “survival of the fittest” is how she defined it. “I shall always be the best choice on my husbands menu,” she purred. “But until I pop the last baby out, it shall be with the help of pilates, diet and botox.”

“You don’t work out do you?” she asked me. “I must, or my body would look like melted butter when naked.” Helena has a pearl on her engagement ring of similar dimensions to a robins egg.

“Have you seen the size of recent divorce settlements?” she enquired. “If I give him three children – my man had better value his quality of life at home, because he shall not be able to afford it with anyone else. What judge would not give me everything I ask for, I have given my husband all that he could possibly want…” she laughed.

I must admit, ‘love’ never came into the conversation at all!

James looked like a rat catchers dog sucking a wasp when three girls invited me to one of their regular boozy lunches where their have their filler/botox jabs topped up.

I am indeed a lovely wife, I hope that he appreciates it; I never even had my high lights done when I was pregnant… I intend to spend much more time with Imogen and her chums in the near future.

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