It was bound to happen. As the old saying goes, ‘when you have too many plates in the air, occasionally one is going to get dropped’. If only it had been just one!
My schedule has been hectic for the last few weeks. I have tried to keep running the household as best as I could with groceries, housekeeping and school runs. Then, I had to organise various birthday parties. There were also school plays, play dates and places that I didn’t even know existed (how did we manage without satnav again?). Finally, I am refinancing my business, hunting for a new house closer to the schools and trying to stop sneezing all the time. My husband is spending some time on business trips abroad, which means that I can only count on me.
I realised that it was all going pear shaped when I saw a guy on the street and thought it was my bank manager. I waved and shouted a big ‘hello’. Well, it wasn’t my bank manager after all. Maybe, on top of all the rest, I need to book myself an eye test.
Then, because of my cold, I kept sneezing and crying. I was therefore being asked all the time whether I was alright. Yes, I am fine, I just have a bad cold. Usually, a condescending comment follows :’ You need to have a rest, Darling.’. As if I could. Who would do the school run? Prepare the meals? Do the laundry? I am sure that they all mean well, but do they really think that I would do all my chores instead of lying in bed if I had a choice? Honestly?
It reached a new low when my phone rang and, as the number looked unfamiliar, I thought that it was my husband calling from wherever he was to let me know that he had landed safely. I replied ‘Hello Handsome!’ in a jokey sort of way, except that it was my bank manager (the real one, this time). I was mortified.
I apologised profusely. In fact, I think that he was slightly amused.
Anyway, in French we say something like ‘le ridicule ne tue pas’, which would translate ‘ridiculousness doesn’t kill’. It is a good thing that it doesn’t…
Muriel – A French Yummy Mummy In London