The village we live in is decent. There are a few scallywags but no blacks or Indians. We are white and proud. Except for the Talwar’s and they seem like nice people, not dangerous at all. They run the newsagents and we always stop to chat with them, we’re not racists.
We bunch together in suitable groups in the playground when we drop our kids off: older mums, younger mums, estate mums, working mums. We talk about the weather and complain about the teachers.
Those of us who stay at home watch Jeremy Kyle and feel superior to the half-wits who appear on his show to air their dirty laundry. We watch This Morning and miss Fern because she looked like one of us. We laugh at Loose Women and bitch about the skinny one.
We dress in cheap clothes but we think we make them work for us. We follow trends that we read about in weekly gossip magazines. We like to have a laugh. We are kind and we care. If you are in trouble we will help you.
After we collect our kids from school we run through spellings with them and feed them nuggets and chips baked in the oven and reduced sugar beans. We worry about paedophiles. We know they are everywhere so we question our kids carefully.
We look forward to six o’clock because we are not the sort of women to drink in the daytime. We message strangers on facebook who click on our Hot or Not profile while gulping wine as if it were water. Our kids play in their rooms and know to leave us alone.
At the pub on a Friday night, whilst one of us babysits the other’s kids, we flirt and suck our stomachs in. We giggle loudly and drink too much. We remember how it felt to be young and desired. We’d settle for a bit of company.
We are your neighbour or your colleague or the woman that serves you in Sainsburys. We’re your mum’s carer or your daughter’s support assistant. We will smile at you and narrow our eyes as you walk away.
We think you’re too fat. We think you’re too slutty. We wonder why you’re such a bad parent. We mock your fake designer gear and your bad hair-do. Your roots make us sick. We don’t know how you keep your man.
In our homes we sometimes relax into tears but you’ll never see evidence of it. We swallow our various heartaches and look for the fun. We say, “Life’s too short” and “You haveta laugh.” We do laugh.
We like to plan for Christmas and birthdays, Halloween, Easter, snow, holidays. We need something to look forward to. We discuss our plans, our nights out, our holidays abroad or in the caravan.
One of us might sleep with your husband. Let’s face it you don’t very often. Or one of us might take offence at you being overly familiar. Our smiles will fade then and you’ll see how unforgiving we can be.
Our kids might become friends or enemies and we will adjust our relationship with you accordingly. We’ll be thoughtful when you least expect it and you’ll figure you had us all wrong. You probably did.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sara Crowley: human, writer, bookseller, reviewer, fat, fucked off, po-faced bitch.
http://asalted.blogspot.com