It's Saturday and we're in trolley gridlock at Waitrose. No Lidl migration from here: the place is hopping. It's hellz-a-shoppin'. Toddlers howl the pain of life. Posh dads, panicked by their unfamiliar surroundings, bellow for their young: “OLIVER! DON'T. TOUCH. THE. OLIVES.”
And it is here, in the very heart of London's Nappy Valley, that you may observe the yummy mummy in her natural habitat, moving in a herd and yet haughtily individual, highstepping her way through the plainer inhabitants of the Waitrose veldt. As if all of which weren't enough, here, too, is my boyfriend, Mr W, with a hangover and wincing at every childish squeak with a theatricality so insistently absurd that you'd think he were witnessing an acceptance speech by “Wince-y” Winslet herself.
. . .
Technorati Tag: childfree
1 comment:
Ha! The thing about the olives makes me think of "How to (not) Have Children" and a chapter about how adults without children always kind of feel like the kid in the room when they're with adults who are parents.
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