As an emotionally balanced, well rounded, proper grown up I’ve been preparing for my daughter starting school this September for a while now. Obviously not, I’ve been ignoring it, crying in to her baby grows and fooling myself that the 2020 shitstorm is on pause. Finally accepting this isn’t the case I took her out-out to buy her uniform (sob). First time out-out since that thing happened with the bat earlier this year.
Mistake one: Letting her lose in public.
Her conduct did not reflect the actions of a young lady who has been absorbing the enormity of the current climate. Despite hearing about ‘the bug’ for the last five months and returning from nursery insisting mummy and daddy are dirty and hugging will trigger certain death, I believe the global pandemic upon us hasn’t quite sunk in as the below scene played out in each shop…
Her: *drags feet, touches all surfaces*
Me: Move away from those people please.
Her: *attempts a hop, misjudges centre of balance, takes down grown man mask and all*
Her: I want the purple things.
Her: *throwing self to ground* I WILL SHARE
Me: Neither you, or your brother, are having tampons.
Me: Stop touching things.
Her: *maintains eye contact* [pause for effect] *Licks counter*
Mistake two: Not re-mortgaging before buying the uniform.
Do you know how much school bloody uniforms cost?! She’s four. FOUR. One fiftieth of the cost of her new uniform. She has approximately 77 years ahead of her but unfortunately her inheritance has already been spent on her reception year shrouds. We’ve been doing fine on a tight rotation of the same three fire hazard ‘princess’ dresses for the last two years, but noooooo from now on I must sell an organ to fund embroidered polyester each August. It’s one way to lose weight I suppose, I’ll be lighter without organs and can no longer afford food.
I want to know who decided densely populated thread count on a chest pocket impacts on a childs’ educational attainment.
So in a blow to my teenage angst, I’ve taken another step towards becoming my own mother* by penning letters to the school governors requesting their peer reviewed studies on uniform conformant vs student results and wellbeing. I’m dangerously close to joining them with an aim of infiltrating from within**.
Mistake three: Not taking alcohol, or downing the hand sanitiser.
*My dear mum, a primary school teacher, point blank refused to send me to primary school in a uniform. AND I TURNED OUT JUST FINE.
**It’ll never work. The power of a clip board will go to my head and within six months I’ll be wearing active wear and a high vis, enforcing uniforms with poorly embroidered logos of my own face.