I did one of those father-son things today where I took the Monkey to the park. My expectation was that I'd let him loose on the playground equipment, and would then sit back and read a book and enjoy a spot of winter sun.
Ha. Fat chance. We were at the park for 90 minutes, and I spent a good 75 of them pushing him on the swings. I had to swap him between the swings from time to time so that I could changeover to my other arm. I can barely type.... my arms are about ready to fall off.
Even 75 minutes of going up and down was not enough. Tantrums were thrown when it was time to depart the park for comfier places, like the couch for me and his bed for him, because we both like an afternoon nap.
But enough of our swinging habits.
Whilst we were there, the adjacent swing was occupied by a delightful young girl who was being pushed by her completely feral rich mum, who spent the entire time ignoring her kid and yakked to her friend instead, who also appeared to live in a house with a Mercedes or three in the garage.
I have nothing against rich people. I come from a comfortable background. Some of my friends have done very well for themselves. Heavens, I went to school with Twiggy Forrest, who is now Australia's richest man, and I even find myself related to him by marriage (not that it has ever done me any good.) So envy is not something that I feel when stuck next to two pretentious blondes in their Gucci sunglasses.
What I do object to are tarts who've married well. In the UK, they call them footballer's wives - slappers who have married dense, athletic bozos - and they get to drive a Ferrari as a result.
These two seemed to fit the mould. I spent around half an hour listening to one bitching about how useless her nanny was, and how many emails she had sent the nanny telling her to clean this and iron that and to feed the kids "interesting" vegetables etc etc. My god, she went on and on and on. I just couldn't understand why she didn't just sack the useless nanny and find another one. But no, that would have taken away her whinge-cow; that being someone even more useless than yourself, the sole purpose of having them around is so that you can bitch about them when they are not there.
Here is what I learned about some of the inhabitants of Five Wog this morning:
The nanny was so useless, she couldn't be compelled to iron anything - that meant that everything had to be taken to the ironing lady to be ironed. I have not heard of someone using an "ironing lady" since, oh, about 1920. Funny how as soon as these slappers make the jump upwards from the lower decks, they instantly outsource all domestic activity back to those still stuck on the lower rungs of society.
The nanny was so hopeless, she couldn't even extract the laundry from the dryer as soon as the dryer finished, meaning that everything had to be ironed. Well, whack me with a pickle stick - I don't think I have ever removed stuff from the dryer when it has gone beep, and I have certainly never considered the possibility of ironing the kids shirts. I just dry stuff and wear it.
Nannies have to be emailed these days with lists of things to be done. What the be-jesus ever happened to face to face conversation? I think that it's a good sign that you should not be employing someone if you are too afraid to talk to them. Unless you have some bizarre nervous condition - in that case, get a gig on Boston Legal with all the other wierdos.
Nannies get to drive a nice car, and they take it to the car wash an awful lot. I'm not sure if I heard right, but it appears that with this family, nanny collected the kids from school and then went to the car wash - every single day. I surmised that because the kids were fed cake every time they went to the car wash, and they seemed to be getting cake an awful lot.
Who washes their car every day? Mine gets washed once a season, if that.
Nannies have to feed kids vegetables every day, and they have to make those vegetables "interesting". The only way that I know to make vegetables interesting is to put them on a spoon and fly them around the table making "nrrow, nrrrrow" sounds, before popping them into a waiting Monkey mouth. Is the nanny supposed to carve them into squid and rabbit shapes? Dye the carrots purple?
Why can't these people fuck off out west and buy a mansion where they belong.
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