Sunday, February 5, 2012

title pic I am the one and only…

Posted by dulwichmum on Sun 13 December 2009

waitrose_shopping-bag_20-jpgashxI took annual leave on Friday to supervise the preparations for Christmas. Yes I have enlisted the assistance of My Girl Friday, dedicated to the hunt for Gogo hamsters and the procurement of appropriate festive adornments for my home, not to mention the interior designer, personal trainer, housekeeper, cleaner, au pair and my mother (in order of importance) swinging from ladders, spitting thumb tacks, replacing blown fuses and hunting the faulty fairy light bulb (yawn)… I soon realised that a few extra provisions were essential, and absconded for a quick swizz around Waitrose, before the munchkins were collected from school (not by me, clearly!).

What a revelation! A midweek, daytime trip to the supermarche is just as competitive as the school gate (clutches chest)… It all began as I perused the fruit and veg, in search of a lemon. I was prodding an artichoke (what the hell does one do with an artichoke?), when a stuffy looking woman snatched a persimmon, from the display to my left, and barked; “I propagate the perfect artichoke, but one can’t grow everything ones-self”. OHMYGOD!

It was war…

I browsed the fine wines and selected a nice bottle of Burgundy for my man, when from no-where, she chimed in with; “I suppose that should be good enough for cooking” (gulp)… She pursued me from one side of the store to the other, and even queued next to me at the checkout! The frozen featured hag popped a pack of organic cereal bars on the conveyor belt and hissed: “My son deserves a treat, he just sat a grade exam for violin”.

“My tiny Max too” I chirped, “Grade 1, and only 8 years old!”

“My son is not yet 8 and he has taken grade 2” she gloated. “His music teacher says he should audition for The National Children’s Orchestra”.

Oh dear, you poor love” I commiserated. “I would put a stop to that right now. An appreciation of culture is one thing, but devote too much time to music at this age and he could end up busking in tube stations sporting an assortment of dubious body piercings” (ha!). She almost choked on her forked tongue!

As we stormed through the car park, full length (Joseph) shearling coats billowing behind us in the breeze, rain began to fall, she announced; “What a pair of competitive Dulwichmums we are”, stopping beside her identical Audi Q7.

I snapped my fingers and a pair of trolley boys appeared from no-where and lugged my shopping into the boot. I placed a £5 note in the breast pocket of each of their shirts and laughed: “It is our ability to delegate appropriately, that separates us from the animals. And there is only one Dulwichmum sweetie!” before hopping into my capacious luxury vehicle and motoring out of the car park leaving her with with a face like a rat catchers dog sucking a wasp!

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