Being Middle Class: Acting like a fishwife

Today is a day NOT to mess with me....

If I were terribly, terribly, middle class and frightfully, frightfully proper I wouldn’t have done wot I did in the Tesco Car Park at lunchtime.

I think my father would have described me as acting like a fishwife. At least that would be the polite version.

Mea Culpa

I hold up my hands.

Guilty as charged

BUT

But  I did have an excuse.

Honest.

Come on have you ever had to work from home AND get your kids to do holiday work?

It’s a recipe for disaster and there is a lot to be said for just giving up and giving in and letting them kick back in front of the TV all day eating crisps. It would be so much easier if I did and I’d get a heck of a lot more work done.

But I know better of course.

I get my kids to do their holiday work come hell or high water and it’s usually both.

They whine, I rumble.

They whine some more and muck about, I growl loudly

They stubbornly refuse to get on with it and I start to shout

They shout back and I explode and there are lots of tears.

After about two hours they settle down for five minutes to get on with it and are then distracted and start to whine all over again about how unfair it is that they have to do holiday work when surely none of their friends have to do any…at this point I go into melt down and basically everything all goes horribly wrong.

I storm out of the house leaving a rather shell shocked family behind. I jump in the car and slew my way down the gravel drive before hurtling into town and Tesco where I intend to pick up sandwiches for lunch and grab some cash – any excuse to get me out of the house so I won't actually carry out my threat of murdering my two boys.

So there I am wondering around the Tesco car park and I see a space; I drive into it then notice there is a space in front that I can drive into allowing me a quick forward getaway when I have finished my chore. But there are two, I’ll call them ladies, gossipping in the space. I nudge my car forward to get them to move so I can park.They stop talking and glare at me momentarily before carrying on.

I wait for them to move.

They don’t.

I rev the engine a little more in case they don't realise that I wish to park where they are standing. I expect them to raise their hands in apology and move away.

They don't instead older woman barks out: “What’s your problem.” Before turning her back on me to carry on talking to her friend.

Normally I would have got all embarrassed and apologised for trying to park and all that but today I have had enough.

Today I am NOT going to be polite.

Today no one had better get in my way.

I flip.

Today I am a real witch.

I rev the car more and hit the horn LONG and LOUD as I drive forward.

"What do you think you are playing at!!" she hollers at me.

"I am parking my car..."

"You could park anywhere!"

"But I don’t want to park anywhere," I say sweetly through gritted teeth."I wish to park here..."

"Well am talking to my friend and I can talk to my friend wherever I like!"

"Great next time try doing it in the middle of the motorway. In the meantime I am parking my car right where your standing - so shift…"

I am not sure if I would have driven right over them but I am glad that they thought I might have driven straight over them.

They even backed right off when I got out of the car still hurtling insults as they walked away.

I should have left it like that.

But as I said: NOT today.

I stalk after them with murder plainly written across my face.

"You want to take this further? Do you? Come on then…"

I honestly believe that I would have got into a full on scrap there and then in the middle of the Tesco car park – talk about anger transference!

They scarpered and I felt…

Brilliant!

It was a total relief.

No shaking, no guilt, no shame.

Went into Tesco and was utterly charming to everyone.

Frightfully Middle Class….

Screaming!

It has just happened.

It came from nowhere and I feel foul.

I screamed at the boys just now because I couldn’t get The Boy’s medicine out of the bottle properly because I was trying to use a make-do syringe rather than trying to find the proper one among all the mess, as I have the kitchen repainted, and it spilt everywhere. A sticky mess dripping all over the kitchen cupboards, all over my hands and all over the floor, so I screamed in frustration. I threw back my head and screamed. I screamed until I had no more breath left, till I felt my fingers tingle and my throat grow raw.

The boys covered their ears and after I snapped at them to eat their supper and go to bed and leave me alone I holed myself up here, in the hope that I won’t do it again. I hate losing it with my boys and I know I have been treading a fine line lately. I had hoped, as I always do, that I might get away with it but foiled again (it should be my catch phrase).

I’ve been tired lately and fussed and doing too much. Book club and dinner out and The Boy’s birthday, a sleepover and taking on the veggie patch. Not to mention that fact that I have had the builders in since January and now it really is time for them to leave.

I cannot cope with the mess and not being able to put things away and be calm and sorted. I cannot cope anymore with being smiley and happy when I have work deadlines to meet and answering endless very important questions about all the minutiae. I long to scream at them: “Just do it! And stop bothering me!” but I can’t and so the boys land up taking the brunt.

And all the time I feel I am getting more and more out of control and I get angry, so very, very, angry and tired, so very, very, tired with it all.

The boys keep putting their heads round the door to ask me questions and I snarl at them. I am trying to warn them away until I am calm enough to cope with putting them to bed and reading a bedtime story. I know when I venture out of my hole it will be difficult not to blow a fuse again but I must get myself under control. I must be able to say sorry and to smile and to reassure them that everything is OK and that it is not them.

You know it's so very exhausting.