Razor blades and wrist slitting ……

I fetched the kids from school yesterday and needed to stop and grab some goodies for dinner.  We were having friends over and I had not really had a chance to give it much thought, so I was trying to pull a Nigella.  I needed to find quick and easy food that would reinforce the idea that I was a domestic goddess to my friends.  I’m not, but I strive to reinforce this belief – even if it is only in my mind.

There we were in Woolworths, kids were fighting over something and I was trying really hard to decide whether I could attempt a camembert phyllo pastry number or just throw a pasta together.

Got over to the check-out counter – picture the scene – it is 5pm, really busy stuff in the store.  Connor is being helpful and unpacking. Georgia is crying because I am not buying her a lollypop – she has resorted to saying please as pweeeezzzzz (but repeated really fast) in the vain hope that cuteness will override my no.

I realize Connor is talking to me and turn to him – and he is pointing to a razor blade display at the check- out and goes: “Mom are you going to get some of those?’

I go : “No, my boy, I’m sorted..” and I continue attending to what one attends to at Woolworths check-out counter.

Connor continues in a slightly louder voice: “Are you sure?  Because these are for your legs.”

I smile – as mom’s can only do when they realize they are being faced with a trying situation – and say: “Really Connor, I have it sorted, but thanks my boy.”

Connor then decides to explain in a louder voice – in case the guy who is packing stock in the back was not in on the conversation: “Well I think you should buy them, because the hair on your legs is all long and spiky, and it is hard and makes me sore….”

I quietly hand over my credit card and slink out the store …….