Tuesday was not my day. Tuesday me, Grace and Lottie visited a friend with two girls of similar ages who had recently moved about an hour and a half away. We’d had a lovely day (it’s amazing what entering someone else’s madhouse can do for your own sanity) and on the way home we stopped at Maccy D’s for a cheeky tea. The usual chaos ensued of quick trip to the disabled toilet for all three of us followed by frantic ordering without losing or dropping either of my children during the teatime rush.
∞TANGENT ALERT∞ So I should say that I tend to go off on tangents. In the interests of not losing you completely, my tangents will come with a health warning so you can skip straight past if you so wish. Always here to help!
Sooooooo back to the tangent; A really lovely woman stood in front of me in the queue turned to me, a complete stranger, and said “Don’t you think it’s disgusting that children can’t even manage ten minutes to eat their dinner without needing to be on an iPad? They’ll end up as the dregs of society if they’re not controlled properly.” WOW just WOW. Decided she maybe wasn’t missing from my friendship circle so just stared at her until she was uncomfortable enough to turn back around.
Finally sorted and settled Grace at one of Maccys’ iPads just to really give Judgemental Judy the middle finger and it bought me the ill-fated 10 minutes of peace to feed Lottie. I got Lottie settled in her highchair and chomping down on her dinner with the sort gusto that only 8 months olds can have for undistinguishable pureed vegetables. Grace decided she needed some help with sorting her drink so I stood up and walked to Grace whilst catching and simultaneously unbuttoning my shirt dress on the back of Lottie’s highchair.
Yes, I flashed my tummy control tights with a bit of mum tum escaping over the top to the entirety of a busy McDonalds at rush hour. I managed to draw extra attention to my foof as I had my tights on inside out so the white patch sewn into the crotch just lit me up like a spotlight. Marvellous.
Grace provided the cherry on the cake by saying “Mummy put your knickers away it’s rude!” displaying the lack of volume control typical of a 4-year-old. This then managed to grab the attention of the last few people who had been spared the sight of my midriff looking akin to a pile of tyres in a bin liner. Our cue to leave before a boob pops out.