A note to school mums everywhere
Maybe I’m odd, but I see driving as an extension of manners. I try to treat other drivers with the same courtesy I extend to the strangers I meet during the course of the day.
If you were entering a building with stranger next to you, for example, would you stamp on their foot and shove them out of your way, just so you could claw your way through the mall door ahead of them?
When you saw a queue at the Ralph Lauren check-out, would you shove past everyone to the front and dump your jeans right on the till while flicking the finger to the rest of the queue?
I bet every single mum I know would be horrified to think of such bad manners. And this is where it gets messy because, fellow school mums, on the approach to school, I see how you drive; I see the way you treat the other road users and I see how you park. I see the colour of your soul.
And then, at the gate, I see who you are.
Oh yes. You who barges in front of everyone, hooting and queue-jumping, double-parking and flicking the finger. You, who feels more important than every other mum who’s patiently waiting their turn.
I see you do that and then I see you get out, in your flippy little chiffon frock and your heels with your fake nails and your fake tan, with your handbag and your diamonds, thinking you’re the business, and then I see you standing at the school gate, going, “Oh hiii! So lovely to see you! How’ve you been? You look gorgeous by the way! Have you lost weight?”
And I think to myself, what a miserable phoney you are and what vile manners you really have. Honestly, I’m tempted to stamp on your foot and barge into school ahead of you, but I won’t. I won’t because I’m not you and, frankly, that’s not what I do. Karma, my dear, karma.