Powered by Blogger.

Ch 24: What's with the sour face?

 

Awake, kicking in his bouncer.

We have just arrived home from a lunch date to a new local cafe with our dear friend and bub.

And when I say just arrived home I meant it. Wha? You're typing already?

Yes indeed, I need to get this down whilst the steam was still filtering from my ears.

Girls, women, ladies, mothers. I ask – when did we lose the sisterhood?

When did we stop looking out for each other?

Ok, pipe down AP. Breathe..breathe. Fine.

As I said, the little master and I wondered off to check out a new cafe in town with his super cute mate, Mr F and his mother. Excited by the prospect of chowing down a hearty lunch with great views of the city, not to mention fabulous company, we had an extra spring in our step as we arrived.

Situated in a new housing development, it was relatively quiet for a Thursday lunchtime. Even better, me thinks. Quick service and we can have the place to ourselves.

Almost.

The 'baby on board' stickers upon several cars parked out the front suggested we weren't the only mums getting out of the house today. Not a problem from my end, happy to coo over other gorgeous bubbas.

Yet my entry to the cafe was not met by the same warm welcome.

AP (standing in the cafe entrance, dear friend holding the door open for me): 'Excuse me, sorry can you please..umm excuussse me? Hello? I just need to pop past..excuse me?'

We've all been there right? Not that hard to move slightly to the side to allow someone to get past.

But did you experience this?

Sour faced looking mother eventually manages to glance in my direction, gives me a look that suggested I was a filthy whorebag and how dare I even attempt getting past with my pram.
 
How dare I.
 
And yes, I said whorebag.

Her response: 'You just need to move the chair..' (picture said sour faced mother condescendingly instructing me to move the chair which was actually right next to her and was also pressed up against a toddler. With reluctance, but still with a half smile on my face, I moved the chair. Sorry kid).

Stuck. Still.

AP (embarrassed, slightly frustrated but with smile still on face): 'I'm sorry, I still can't get through..?'

By this stage there were now three mothers pretending I didn't exist or need any assistance, rolling their eyes still refusing to budge or move another chair or, heaven forbid, touch their designer nappy bag.

Enter mother number four who has just ordered from the counter, on her way back: 'Here, let me help you as she guided the front of my pram through their marked territory'.

Unfortunately her tone also reeked of reluctance, abruptness and basically down right cat like behaviour to be completely honest.

With the smile still etched on my face and with dear friend behind me (there was no room for her to get past and assist...just in case you were wondering), we took the three whole steps past the group, who were now tucking into a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and gracefully thanked mother number four for her assistance which was 'much appreciated'.

Unbeknown to me, but on the record from my dear friend, the cat like snarls continued to burn in the back of my head as we made our way to a table.

How sad.

Was it something I said? Something I did? All I did was turn up to a cafe with a pram, just like they did.

Although we were both shocked and quite pissed off by what we just encountered, we carried on and had a great lunch.

The service was lovely, the food was fresh and tasty and the coffee really hit the spot. Winner.

But what I shame I still managed to leave with such a sour taste in my mouth.

Asleep  now in his bed. Heavy rain outside, how timely as a thundery storm is about to pass.

Laura Winter  – (September 3, 2012 at 11:07 PM)  

Perhaps you have a generic brand stroller and not a Bugaboo...

This type of clique-ey mother's group snobbery is awful and so rife.

Lucky you breastfeed that's all I can say. Imagine if you not only barged through their cafe, but you also pulled out some "artificial baby milk" or whatever it is that they call it.

Post a Comment

  © Blogger template Shush by Ourblogtemplates.com 2009

Back to TOP