Monthly Archives: October 2009
Hot, Dot, Bot and I were out this evening for the first time in ages. Frugality is very much in vogue here at the moment, so dinner in our local Irish-Italian eatery had the air of a novelty. Hot and I had braced ourselves for an hour and a half of snatched bites of dinner in between crowd control measures, ranging from verbal warnings to physical restraint, depending on the amount of Coke Dot managed to sneak past us and into herself.
Dot caught us completely off guard by being a total angel. Dinner was ordered in a Shirley Temple voice with manners to match. Please and thank you were said. Requests for drinking straws, small spoons, colouring books and extra cheese were made at our table, sitting down. Even Dot’s recession-coping mechanisms were successfully tested – the news that the restaurant no longer does Babychinos (now there was an example of the Celtic Tiger gone completely doolally) was received with stoicism.
Bot tried to balance things out by pulling a button off my new boyfriend cardigan, but I barely noticed, so giddy was I with delight at Dot’s model behaviour.
Now I am spending the rest of the evening fighting off evil musings about what it is she wants. Bad Mommy!
Feeling very curmudgeonly since hearing about the breastfeeding mother in Beaumont House pub in Dublin last week who was asked by the owner to move “out of consideration for other customers”.
Apart from all the issues around discrimination, people thinking breastfeeding is the same as indecent exposure, the sheer ignorance of people who would complain about someone breastfeeding in public, etc., this incident also makes me think about children’s rights. Why should a child having his/her lunch in a pub be asked to move? If children were recognised in law as equal citizens, there would be no question that they could eat where and when they need to, like anyone else.
Three cheers for the mother who raised the issue publicly and spoke so well on Joe Duffy yesterday, and for her father-in-law who also came on to defend her. I actually felt a bit sorry for the pub owner on the show – he contradicted and implicated himself several times, not to mention making it obvious that he had been totally unaware of the legislation that protects against discrimination on any grounds, including breastfeeding, in public houses.
Guess he feels like a bit of a boob now…:-)
I’ve always been a keen subscriber to the “You’re only as old as you feel” philosophy (especially since turning 30, funnily enough). Most days I can convince myself that I feel around 17, if I avoid the mirror and visualise my particular inner 17-year-old as a shrieking banshee with baby puke on her jeans.
But other days it’s a struggle.
On my most recent visit to the hairdresser, the salon assistant asked me if I would like some magazines. Suppressing the real answer (“This is the only time every two months that I get to sit and read magazines for an hour so – hell yeah!!”), I nodded and watched approvingly in the mirror as the youth sifted through the magazines on the table behind me, clearly taking pains with the selection. I berated myself for pre-judging him by his appearance – electric blue Mohican, waistband practically around his knees and studs through every available flap of skin – and reminded myself to be more open-minded. What did he finally bring? “Good Housekeeping”.
Sometimes the subtle messages come from those closest to you. Hot was going to the supermarket last week and I asked him to get me some shampoo without specifying what kind (hair again!! aaargh). He returned with a very expensive-looking bottle and proudly handed it over. The label read “For tired, stressed hair.”
I’m not saying that I think everyone I know is commenting behind my back on how much I’ve aged lately. That would be ridiculous. I’m just saying – just because you’re paranoid, don’t mean they’re not after you.
(Did I just quote a rock star that most of today’s under-25s have probably never heard of?)