Yesterday lunchtime I was in Costa, minding everyone else’s business via the free wifi, when I overheard the following conversation coming from the table next to me:
Toddler [pointing to me]: Mummy, what’s that lady doing?
Mummy: She’s working on her laptop. She looks very busy, doesn’t she?
[I was blogging about Dannii Minogue at the time, so hell yeah, I was busy.]
Toddler: She looks very old.
Mummy [laughs nervously]: Well, I don’t think she looks old. Now stop chattering and drink up your babycino.
Thanks for that, Mummy. Nice try, but I still felt crushed. So I did what any self-respecting woman would do in such a situation. I marched over to the table that was, um, right next to me, hurled the babycino onto the floor and launched into the following tirade:
Very old? I look VERY old, do I? Have you ANY IDEA how much I have spent over the years on pentapeptides, boswelox, retinol, ceramides, buckets and buckets 7-signs-of-ageing pore-clogging lard to smear over my face every fucking night? No, I bet you have NO IDEA because you’re a fucking toddler and haven’t a FUCKING CLUE what these things cost. What is it you want? Do you think I should be STARVING MY KIDS to pay for Crème de la Mer and botox, just so I don’t put the likes of you off your blueberry muffin? Is that what you want? So you get fatter and my kids STARVE so mummy can meet your exacting standards? Well, fine. On your fucking curly-haired toddler head be it. But when, in five years’ time, we’re in this café, begging, and my kids point to you say mummy, why is that boy so fat?, don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you.
And then I picked up his blueberry muffin, crammed it into his fat toddler mouth and stalked out of the café to resounding applause.
PS I’m not going to patronize you by telling you which bits of this are made up.
PPS Oh, okay, then. I DO NOT look old. But that toddler WAS a cunt.