Posts Tagged ‘telling lies’

Everybody has Bad Trouser Days. But if the truth be told, I probably have more than the average person (see “Ye Of Little Fashion” for proof).

In my haste to get to school on time the other day, I chose a pair of trousers that effectively turned my “apron” of extra fat into one of those play tents that had been folded and stuffed in its accompanying bag by someone who didn’t have a Higher Degree in Play Tent Folding: it felt like it was going to pop out with great force at any give moment and (quite possibly) wind an innocent bystander in the process.

Because I’d driven the kids to school, I didn’t realise the full extent of my potential wardrobe malfunction until I lost my car keys. Yes, it takes a very special kind of person to lose her car keys in between turning off the ignition and getting the kids out of the car. It also takes a special pair of trousers on a special kind of person to showcase generous amounts of arse-crack to her own children and assorted passersby as she scrambles about on all fours trying to find said keys.

Since the bell was about to go, I had to leave the car unlocked and get the older two kids to their classrooms. I walked, as if in a daze (stopping to readjust my trousers every five steps) and further built on my reputation at the school by telling everyone I met how I’d just lost my keys. At least two people asked me if I’d left them in the ignition with the engine still running, leaving me to conclude that my reputation was probably worse than I had ever thought.

Of course when I returned to the car for one more look, I finally found the keys wedged firmly between two seats and could finally stop worrying they’d actually fallen down my arse-crack.

Anyway, I had to then rush Tiddles McGee to kindergarten and settle him in (he’s currently of the opinion that kindergarten has jumped the shark), and then rush back to the school to see Mr Justice receive his “Pupil Of The Week” award. Mr Justice had specifically requested my presence at the assembly and since most of the time he’s on the verge of taking a temporary restraining order out on me in public spaces, I was keen to be there.

I burst into the back of the school hall just in time to see a steady stream of children being rewarded for achieving their “Personal Best” (see my post “A Day Of Personal Bests” to read about the drinking game this turn of phrase inspired) and thought “Phew!”. My relief was only short-lived, however, as two minutes later the assembly was finished without any sign of Mr Justice or his Personal Best Certificate.

I made a bee-line to fellow-parent FatherOfCrankyPants, who confirmed the awards were given in two groups and Mr Justice had been in the first.

“Argggghhhh! I missed it!” I moaned. “Mr Justice had really wanted me to come today. Should I lie and tell him I saw him?”

“Yes, lie.” FatherOfCrankyPants urged. “LIE!”

It seemed the obvious thing to do, but then I thought of my recent post “Infrequent Liar Points” and promptly changed my mind. It was the kind of small white lie that seemed harmless at the time but would no doubt ultimately end with me standing semi-naked in front of a crowd of booing strangers.

I decided the most responsible thing to do was to loiter by the front door of the assembly hall and wave cheerily as Mr Justice left with his class. That way he’d  think that I’d been standing there all along without me actually having to lie about it. Genius.

But after waving cheerily at at least seven classes traipsing past, I looked back into the empty hall and realised Mr Justice’s class must have exited through a different door.

Unsure of what to do next, I ended up loitering outside his classroom. I was about to give up and go home when one of his classmates returned from the toilets and opened the classroom door. Catching Mr Justice’s eye through the temporarily open door, I began waving manically and giving him the double thumbs up.

Instead of smiling and waving back in an “It’s good to see you’ve got my back, Mum!” manner, Mr Justice looked at me as if to say “What the fuck are you doing here, you Keyless Arse-Parading Clown“.

Luckily, it was only when the classroom door was actually shut that my “apron” chose its moment to pop out over the top of my trousers. B’DOINGGGG! Just like that. But nobody saw it and no children were hurt. It was a small comfort for somebody who wasn’t about to win any Mother of the Year awards any time soon, but I hoicked up my trousers and walked back to my car with my car keys firmly in my hand and my head held high.

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I don’t lie very often. I’d like to say it’s because I have strong internal moral compass and a keen sense of Right and Wrong. But no, I generally don’t lie because, like a lot of people, I’m worried I’ll get caught.

The other day, Mother of Master L asked me to pass on her apologies at the kindergarten committee meeting. Turns out she’d got free passes to see a film in Gold Class with her husband. (If you don’t know what Gold Class is, some people look upon it as mainstream cinema with comfy seats and alcohol. I personally look upon it as a chance to drink copious amounts of alcohol in an almost fully reclined position in a place where a movie also happens to be playing).

Anyway, in the words of my high school diary: I was shocked! Gold Class instead of the kindergarten committee meeting? Where was Mother of Master L’s sense of community spirit? I, in stark contrast, am always the very embodiment of such spirit when I sit through those meetings, perched on one of the kindergarten chairs, my knees around my ears and my eyes fixed firmly on the Secretary’s watch in an attempt to stay awake. And before you start thinking ill of me (well, more ill of me), it’s not because I don’t care about the kindergarten or its community. I do. Very much. It’s just that I don’t have a head for the details. I’m an ideas person remember! IDEAS! NOT DETAILS! Now, what were we talking about again?

Anyway, when I passed on MoML’s apologies that evening, the President of the Committee noted her absence without question. I was surprised. I thought that you’d need to give a reason to miss a committee meeting such as “I’m really very sick indeed”. Because that’s what I’d probably say if I were skipping off to Gold Class instead of the meeting.

But then, thinking about it, if I did say I was sick, the President of the Kindergarten Committee (a kindly person) would probably swing past my house after the meeting bearing freshly baked goods. And then the door’d be answered by the babysitter and the Chain of Deceit would continue because the babysitter would have to make something up on the spot, like “Sick? Oh, yes, [The NDM] is sick…. in fact SO sick her husband had to her to hospital!! Yeah, she’s sooo in hospital right now”.  And then, when the babysitter grew reluctant to provide any further details, the President of the Kindergarten Committee would be left with no choice but to Assume The Very Worst. And she’d go straight home to do a quick ring around and form an emergency Prayer Circle for me. And then one of the Circle would suggest the group convene in front of my house in an all-night candlelit vigil and, before you know it, word would whip around the neighbourhood and a steady stream of people would be joining them in the power of Front Yard Prayer. And then, in one corner, someone would start a quilting bee to make a patchwork eiderdown to nurse me back to good health, with “OUR THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS ARE WITH YOU, NDM” carefully hand-stitched in the centre by someone’s grandmother with ailing eyesight and arthritic fingers, painstakingly working by candlelight. And then a hat would be past around and people would dig very deep, even into their own personal savings, and a sizeable amount would be raised in a very short time. And somewhere, someone would start singing a rousing hymn and slowly, one by one, everyone would join in, tears streaming down their faces as they thought of how full of life I’d been just that very afternoon.

At which point, my husband and I would arrive home drunk in a taxi, with tell-tale signs of Choc Tops smeared across the front of our shirts.

So no, I don’t tell lies. I don’t “do” Gold Class. In fact, I rarely leave my house at night, except to go to Kindergarten Committee Meetings, of course. After this post, I ain’t missing any of those ever again, that’s for damn sure.

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