Being Good

My daughter has found a new game to play when out in public, and I have to say I’m finding it hilarious. 

It’s called ‘being good’. The rules seem to be reasonably straightforward: when in public or semi-public situations and there are other children around who are “acting out” a little, make sure you are very ostentatiously being good. The more obvious the better. 

We were in the changing room after her swimming lesson and a little girl was running her poor mother ragged. She was hiding in lockers, running through the locker room, and generally doing anything and everything that she shouldn’t be doing. The mother was trying to get them both dressed and their hair dried, only to be met with insolence and disobedience. So my little cherub felt this would be an appropriate moment to emphasise her RP accent (we now live in North Yorkshire) and do everything in her power to show how little girls should behave. I had this blue eyed, blonde hair angel drying and dressing herself, asking if she could return her towel to the drop off, take herself to the loo.

Each action was a preceded with a “Mummy can I….?” and a big grin when she was done. She sat quietly while I brushed her hair out and wrapped it (she doesn’t do hair dryers) and she then collected all her belongings to leave. The final straw, I think, for the other parent, was when her child started to pull part of the wall apart, and my daughter turned to me and asked if she should carry all her bags as I have a ‘poorly tummy’. 

I could feel the resentment whilst I tried not to laugh. I had to cave and explain to the mother that this was her idea of a joke, and the seething expression of hate I was now getting from the other mothers was amusing to her (me too). 

On the way out, we passed another mum who was loaded down with her son’s bag, tennis racket, sports bag as well as her own gym bag and handbag. He then asked her to carry his drink and she looked at him amazed and asked him ‘how?!’ He huffed and marched away. She looked at me with astonishment and asked if they think we are made of arms. At which point, my little darling with her shining halo (balanced on pointy horns) appeared, dragging ALL her belongings. The lady looked on, amazed, from me to her stroppy preteen who was still protesting about carrying a drinks bottle. 

“How did you do that?!” She asked me, stunned.

I came clean.

“This isn’t normal, I had a hysterectomy last week. You have to lose organs for kids to be this agreeable, and it only lasts a fortnight.” 

We left a trail of stunned adults and raging kids who had been shown up.

I could feel the hate.

It was nice. 

We got home and she screamed until bedtime because I cruelly asked her what she wanted for dinner. The game is only played in public, sadly.