This time of year, the school run is always a joy.
It’s dark. It’s cold. It’s tipping it down with rain. And all I really want is to be at home, snuggled on the sofa in front of a roaring fire.
Today was no exception. Apart from the fact that I knew there was no food in the house, so we needed to stop off at the supermarket for supplies on the way home.
“Come on, let’s be super quick,” I said to Flea, as we dodged the rain crossing the car park.
We raced up and down aisles collecting chicken, spinach, bread – and in double-quick speed we’re at the checkout.
Except – oops – no eggs for breakfast.
“Flea, go grab a box of eggs,” I whispered, and Flea scampered off.
I suddenly realised I could have been a bit more polite. After all, I tend to think your kids will only speak to other people politely if you’re polite to them.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” I called after my daughter.
I was just thinking about what an amazing parenting role model I am when a voice jolted me back to the real world.
“You’re welcome,” said the man in front of me in the queue, who had just put down the divider thing on the conveyor belt between his shopping and mine.
“Oh, I wasn’t talking to you,” I laughed, nervously, looking around. “I was talking to…”
My daughter. Who was nowhere to be seen.
“Course you were, sweetheart,” said the man, paying for his banana-flavoured Minion Tic Tacs. (sidenote: what sort of man buys Minion Tic Tacs, anyway?)
He winked at me. And left, with a spring in his step.
Ten seconds too late, Flea came back.
And now we have to find a new supermarket.