Twattery

Dear Dobson,

As you’re aware, I’m not someone who likes to romanticise the business of parenthood.  I am quietly proud of my children, but I refuse to be drawn into playing 'Kid Top Trumps' in the playground with other parents whose own desperate insecurities force them to live their lives through the achievements of their offspring.

It’s a certain brand of parent that plays this particular game and their middle-class, wishy-washy, boundary-less school of parenting irritates the fuck out of me.  Just who are these people?  They have no personalities, they all need intensive therapy and they waste so much energy trying to present a ‘chilled’ and ‘relaxed’ front, when in reality they are obscenely uptight.  They maintain the demeanour of confused adolescents in forty-something year old bodies and hence, not knowing who they really are, they choose to define themselves through the often bizarrely named fruit of their loins.

I found myself at a swimming gala on Friday evening.  Middle Son was due to take part in a couple of races and I wanted to be there to support him, conversely, along with this desire was mild irritation that I’d lose a significant amount of my night sitting in a loud, humid environment with other parents.

On arrival I felt as if someone had amassed my worst nightmares and turned them into a caricature of the very parent I despise so much:

Rainbow-jumpered man was sitting at his child’s event with a fucking guitar…  He sat for at least three hours playing / strumming / tuning it, I don’t know which because thankfully I couldn’t hear over the roar of the crowd who were doing what they were actually there to do i.e. supporting their children.

All I could think was what a self-indulgent, self-absorbed cunt he was.  How embarrassing for little Balthazar or India that his / her father chose to upstage any swimming effort that he / she might make.  Even Oldest Son, who is autistic and allegedly has little sense of what is socially acceptable, asked me what the prick with the guitar was doing…  A proud moment for me.

I’m glad I’ve got that off my chest anyway.  Can you tell I haven't had relations with The Man for over 48 hours?  It could be a good night to resurrect Bunny™.

Frankie