Diary of a Mummy Misfit #1

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Diary of a Mummy Misfit #1 Page 22

by Amanda Egan


  Agreed to help her out as Max would have company and wouldn’t be constantly asking, “What can I do now?”

  Also gave me the opportunity to have a beauty overhaul - shaving, tanning, plucking, face pack, hair conditioning and manicure. Amazing what you can achieve whilst constantly checking on three kids playing vets in the bedroom next door.

  Fenella returned, exhausted and in need of wine. Think Josh will be in need of something stiffer when he finds out what she spent. Aside from her ‘fat clothes’ (size 12) she bought the most stunning ‘Ghost’ dress for tomorrow night, with shoes, jewellery and handbag - was she also too fat for the abundant accessories she already owned?

  Ned came home to find us both at the kitchen table, half way through our second bottle of wine, surrounded by Fenella’s posh bags.

  “Oh boy,” he said as he helped himself to a glass of wine, “Don’t tell me. Josh is in for a bit of a shock tonight is he?”

  “Yes, Sweedie he is, I’m afraid. Actually must ring for a cab and get home before he sees the bags. If I offer sexual favours and break the news to him afterwards, it usually works to my advantage.”

  Ned laughed, “Oh so that’s how you ladies get what you want is it?”

  Needless to say, I kept very quiet.

  Saturday 13th December AM

  Manor House Christmas Ball

  Ned and I took Max, Dog and Dot for a lovely frosty walk around the common to try to ensure they were worn out for when Mum looks after them tonight.

  Bumped into Gestapo and the rat on the way back - both sporting matching silver and pink hoodies. Ned could barely contain his laughter but politely commented on the garb and enquired as to where one might buy such fetching designs.

  Gestapo batted her eyelashes and answered, “I have ours imported from a company in the States but I don’t think they stock them in large.”

  Don’t know if she was looking at Dog, Dot or me when she said it but I didn’t like the tone.

  PM

  Fenella arrived this afternoon armed with all sorts of scary electricals to set to work on my hair.

  As she tackled it, she chatted happily about their Christmas plans. “We’re off to Mummy and Daddy in Kent on Christmas Eve, drinks with the Forbishers - old family friends - totally trashed for midnight mass and then a boozy Christmas and Boxing Day with far too much goose and plum pudding. A couple of crates of Moët (she pronounced this ‘Moot’) later and we’ll head back to town on the Saturday.”

  Not for the first time, I felt as if I was in an episode of ‘The Good Life’, with me playing Barbara to her Margot. Half expected ‘Tom’ to come in from mucking out the pigs and say that ‘Gerry’ had invited us in for a sherry.

  It took her about two hours to work her way through my mop but she did a really good job and I hardly recognised myself.

  Fenella packed her torturous looking implements away and set off home for her own ball preparations, adding, “Now keep away from any steam. No baths and definitely no cooking - I’ve not worked my arse off for you to end up looking like Cleo Laine!”

  Mum arrived and started cooking and feeding duties so I had plenty of time to add the final glamour and glitz. Looked pretty good even if I do say so myself. Ned remarked that I looked as lovely as I did on our wedding day and that I would knock spots of all the designer-clad mummies.

  When our cab arrived, Mum waved us off with, “You look very nice Libby but I’d have stuck the dress in the machine with a black dye if I were you - such a forgiving colour!”

  Just as well the Fairy Godmother wasn’t so brutal or Cinderella could have ended up in therapy what with all the other crap she had going on in her life.

  Sunday 14th December

  Ned decided last night should have been named the ‘Battle of the Boobs’ - Letchy Dad was once again in Hooter Heaven, “Smashing to see all you lovely fillies done up like dog’s dinners,” he spluttered as he dribbled red wine down his greasy little chin.

  There were certainly tits-a-plenty. Hoiked, cajoled and plumped. Real, fake and chicken fillet stuffed. La Perla, Victoria’s Secrets and Rigby & Pellar all on show. You couldn’t be blamed for thinking you were at some sort of lingerie award ceremony.

  And there probably wasn’t a designer in the land not represented in some shape or another through the outfits, shoes or evening bags - there were even a couple of mummies wearing tiaras!

  ‘Dress Up Mummy’ didn’t look out of place either - even wearing what looked like a bin liner with zips and a fur collar. ‘Dress up Daddy’ was in a dinner jacket with gingham chef’s trousers and a trilby hat - what was he thinking?

  Actor Wankor was the only daddy in a white tux. Reckons he’s being considered for the new James Bond. Hasn’t he heard that Daniel Craig’s signed up for a good few more? His wife, Long-suffering Mel, looked stunning but embarrassed - poor woman has to live with his bullshit full-time.

  The ball was held in a beautiful riverside banquet room in Wandsworth and the drinks reception in an annexe where we were entertained by stilt walkers, mime artists and magicians.

  The evening went downhill slightly when Ned, Fenella, Josh and I found ourselves yet again on a table with Gestapo and husband (AKA ‘Rudeman’ now), the Gnome and Letchy Dad, Actor Wankor and Mel.

  For my sins, I found myself trapped between Letchy Dad and Actor Wankor - big decision as to who to strike up conversation with. Option 1: Get dribbled over and ogled. Option 2: Be bored to death by “Me, Myself, I.”

  Went for Option 1 as I’m quite capable of handling a bit of harmless flirtation but was worried that I might tell Actor Wankor to go take a long walk off a sort pier.

  Rudeman was next to Fenella who, try as she might, was unable to engage him in conversation. His iPhone and Blackberry featured heavily again and, at one point, I heard Fenella say, “So of course I let the alien shag me and then zoom off home in his spaceship.” She looked over at me and winked as Rudeman continued nodding intently as if he’d heard every word.

  The attention was soon on Gestapo when she, quite loudly, called our waiter a “silly little twat” because he’d served her with potatoes while she wasn’t looking. She was almost hysterical as she hissed, “Christ does no one understand the importance of no carbs. Take my plate away and bring me one with just chicken please.” She then threw another glass of Champagne down her throat, looking decidedly worse for wear.

  Was greatly relieved when the dancing started up and people began to swap seats and chat to those they really wanted to. Fenella came and sat next to me and was instantly in full-bitch-mode, “Holy guacamole! Have you seen the trout pouts and Botox overdoses tonight? The woman on the table next to us could barely chew her asparagus, her mouth was so much like a buggered monkey’s arse! Think they must have all booked in for pre-Christmas top-ups. Now that’s something Josh will never have to pay out for. I’m just going to grow old very disgracefully! Come on, let’s go and boogie!”

  The remainder of the night was spent dancing to the excellent live band and successfully avoiding Letchy Dad - found out it’s not just tits he’s into - a handful of buttock will do quite nicely too.

  Went to the loo for a much needed pee and fresh air and found Gestapo with her head down the pan throwing up, door wide open and glittery G-string on show to the world. My instant reaction was to leave her to get on with it but the Florence Nightingale in me just couldn’t do it. Must admit I had to struggle for a while before I could recall her real name. Then I remembered, “Araminta? Can I do anything to help?”

  A very pitiful and haggard looking face lifted itself very slowly and shakily from the toilet. Once she’d focused she spat, “Oh, it’s Mrs Bloody Perfect, is it? Like you could possibly help!” This was followed by another bout of violent up-chucking.

  Thinking she’d mistaken me for someone else, I continued, “No, it’s Libby. Libby Marchant. Can I get you anything?”

  “Yes I know perfectly well who you are, you stupid cow - everything’s just ro
sy in Mrs Bloody Perfect’s land, isn’t it? Now sod off and leave me to throw up in peace!”

  Never one to know when to let things lie, I stupidly continued with my offer of help, “Araminta, just let me get … (couldn’t think of her bloody husband’s name and right now wasn’t the time to call him Rudeman) …someone to be with you.”

  After another heaving session, I was rewarded with, “Just piss off to your doting husband and crawl off to your little hice and live your charming little life. I don’t need your help.”

  Once I realised that she knew exactly who she was talking to, it still made no sense but I decided I wasn’t going to stick around for more unfounded abuse so went off to fetch Fenella.

  Instantly, she became the head girl I knew she’d been in her past. Black coffee materialised from nowhere and ‘no-nonsense’ armour was put firmly in place. The sight of Fenella’s face in the ladies ten minutes later was enough to sober up the most hardened of drunks.

  “Right, Araminta. Firstly, put your arse away. It’s not an attractive sight despite all the cash you throw at your personal trainer. Secondly, sit on the toilet and drink this coffee. Thirdly, don’t ever be so rude to my friend again. She was trying to help you and, like the little bitch you are, you threw it back in her face. Finally, get off the bog so that other people can use it for its true purpose and get yourself some counselling. I think you’ll find your husband has a cab waiting for you.”

  It seemed harsh but had the desired effect and Gestapo pulled down her dress, drank the coffee and staggered from the loo, out to Rudeman.

  Tried to enjoy the rest of the evening but couldn’t help wondering why she’d got so pissed and why she’d called me Mrs Bloody Perfect.

  Monday 15th December AM

  Max and I spent the day putting up the Christmas decorations - leaving the tree until tonight when we’ll decorate it as a family. Decided the manky one will just about survive another year, even though it would be lovely to have a real one with a proper scent, despite the hassle of dropping needles.

  Fenella called to see how I was feeling after my run-in with Gestapo. “Just take it with a pinch of salt, Sweedie. Bloody woman obviously has some serious issues and you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Golly, it felt good bossing her about though and did you see the bum on it? I’d be sacking the trainer if I were her!”

  Can always rely on Fenella to put things back in perspective. I had been rather dwelling on the ‘Loo-gate’ incident and it had left me feeling puzzled - had she meant what she’d said? And why did she think I had the perfect life?

  Fenella went on to ask me what I had planned for Ned’s birthday and I explained that, as money was tight, we’d decided to just have a quiet meal in.

  “Oh goodie. I was hoping you’d say that,” she babbled excitedly, “Oops, didn’t mean I was hoping you’d say you were broke, just that you wouldn’t have anything planned. Had a super idea. Come to us and I’ll do a Stroganoff or something and we can have a ‘Room 101’ night - get your thinking caps on and each come up with three things you’d get rid of. It’ll be a hoot.”

  Had to admit it sounded like a great idea to have our own version of the TV programme and I was sure Ned would enjoy it, so I thanked her and agreed.

  “Now just remember, Lib. We all want to do away with Gestapo and her horrid bottom, so that’s a foregone conclusion. Come up with three others, OK? Got to dash, Charlotte’s trying to put her wellies on one of the dogs. Speak later.”

  Only three things to dump in Room 101? Now that was going to be a tricky one.

  PM

  Ned arrived home with the most beautiful little real Christmas tree. He said it was a bargain and that he knew how much I wanted a proper one so decided to treat us.

  Spent a lovely couple of hours decorating it and, as usual, cursing the fairy lights that always decide to go on the blink the minute they’re taken from their box.

  Max went to bed a very happy and excited little boy. The house was bedecked and the tree up, so that must mean Christmas was close!

  Ned and I shared a bottle of Cava, kidding ourselves it was the real thing, and contemplated our 101’s. How we’ll ever decide I don’t know, because the list was endless …

  Snobbery, 4X4’s, botox, Braille parkers, dogs in clothes, NM’s foul food, pushy mothers, people who have four holidays a year, holes in roofs, unexpected expense, redundancy …

  Tuesday 16th December

  Still mulling over my final three but think I could almost be there. As usual, Ned’s taking it all very seriously and drawing up short lists and then rating them out of ten to see if they stay on or get struck off! Anal? My husband? Never!

  Fenella called to say that she’d decided we also need to take props to represent our bug-bears - that’s just taken the trout pout off my list! And probably fake boobs off Ned’s.

  Was amazed to find that I’d received an email from Gestapo:

  ‘Libby

  I feel I owe you an apology for the way I spoke to you on Saturday night - it was very wrong of me.

  I have a lot going on in my life at the moment - things I couldn’t possibly divulge to you because you would never understand.

  Suffice it to say that I look at you and you seem to have everything and it all comes so easily to you. I guess I was hit by the green-eyed-monster, which is very unusual for me. I may appear to have the whole package but you have so much more and I suppose I resent you for that.

  Anyway, I hope you’ll accept this apology. I know we’ll never be friends because we inhabit different worlds but I don’t feel I should have spoken to you in the way that I did.

  Araminta

  PS: I would be grateful if the incident could stay between ourselves.’

  A very odd apology but I suppose it’s answered a few questions.

  At the same time it’s created a few more - how could she possibly be jealous of me? What is it that she thinks ‘comes so easily’ to me?

  And the nosey side of me asks, what are the things ‘going on’ in her life at the moment?

  Just goes to show how we make judgments on outward appearances, but we just never know what’s going on under the surface.

  Jealous of me!

  Wednesday 17th December

  After much discussion and careful deliberation last night, Ned and I sent a courteous acknowledgment of Gestapo’s apology - even wishing her a happy Christmas.

  Fenella scoffed when I read it to her and said that she wouldn’t have been quite so charitable. “All she’d have got from me would have been ‘Bugger off, Saddo, and start thinking about the starving kids in Africa’. That bitch needs a bit of perspective in her life, I reckon.”

  Definitely not a career in diplomacy for Fenella!

  Thursday 18th December

  Have now finally decided on three 101’s and have sorted my props. Not even discussing it with Ned because I know, with all his careful planning, he’ll still leave it all to the last minute and then run around like a blue-arsed fly frantically looking for props and trying to get me involved when all I want to do is get ready.

  Took Max to the supermarket to do the bulk of the Christmas food and booze shop. All we need to get on Christmas Eve now is the fruit, veg and meat. Received a rather nice cheque to help with the celebrations from the ‘High Powereds’ last week so that made it all a lot easier. Don’t feel guilty for taking it because it’s really their turn and, anyway, they can afford it.

  Dropped off a couple of bits Mrs S had asked me to get her and found Skunk in a pinny having lesson No 5 in the art of pickle making. He looked up with a “Hi Libby” and then, proudly putting his heavily tattooed arm around his mentor’s shoulder, announced “Ba and I are now partners. Managed to convince ‘er not to take a business loan. She’s used ‘er profits from the fair and I’ve matched it with my Nan’s money. Got a mate to knock us up a website so we should be up and running in no time - if I ever get the ‘ang of chilli dissection, that is.” Hi
s eyes were red raw and streaming having forgotten the fundamental rule of not touching them before washing his hands. Mrs S swiped him jokily with her tea-towel and called him a silly monkey.

  Left ‘Ba’s Kitchen’ in full swing and settled Max down to watch a Christmas DVD in my bedroom while I did the usual attack on my wardrobe to find something suitable for a Room 101 night. Decided on black and gold embroidered bustière (gives me a good cleavage) and black velvet trousers (very slimming).

  Sure Paul Merton would approve but, more importantly, Mum won’t be able to comment on how fat I look when she turns up to babysit.

  Friday 19th December AM

 

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