Saturday, May 10, 2008

Denial is not just a river in Egypt

I recently found myself in a department store seriously considering one baby gadget over another, despite it being 50 quid more expensive. This because the words 'Baby Einstein' were branded on it in bold red letters. Yep, those marketing people are sly - they know that as new parents you imagine your own little Julia or Phineas playing with said gadget and going on to be instrumental in the creation of an Atom Bomb that kills thousands of people. Naturally you feel compelled to pay whatever the asking price.

The other thing you get royally screwed by are 'the extras' when you buy a pram/buggy. There was me, yes foolish me, thinking that when we bought a pram, a mere snip at 400 quid (and this is considered a middle of the road price here), that that thing would come with all the bells, whistles, and bling you could ask for. It's only when it arrived that I realised that you need to buy the pram liner separately, oh and a good sun visor separately, and a parasol separately, and a cup holder separately. I tell you, next to the cosmetics industry, the baby one is right up there in terms of having a laugh and taking the piss. And any other expletives you can think of.

So a bit of advice to anyone that is about to sprog and wanting to go and get all kitted out: Have the salesperson tell you exactly what that pram comes with before you buy. And remember to get the cup holder. I mean, where else are you going to put your Starbucks?

I've began to noticeably age- a fact painfully obvious to everyone else for the longest time, but a new one to narcissistic avoidant me. Whereas before some Clinique Double Matte face powder, rouge, and a bit of lipstick appeared to do the 'fresh faced' trick, since having a baby I now have to use concealer, Touche Eclat, plus the face powder. Oh yes, and I've started using eye cream. You know you're getting to a certain age when you start considering ridiculously overpriced eye cream as a basic must-have in your beauty routine.

Also, things are not helped by the fact that I keep getting poor grammatical penis paraphernalia spam: 'Increase sex happiness for all time' or 'Larger penis fun for all,' or 'The life needs to be lived in the pleasure and the it will be more, the better.' And my favourite, 'Desire to be better to become a reality.' These are actual subject headers to the emails I get sent.

I mean, let's be frank here, if I had a penis to begin with, which thankfully I do not, do these people honestly think I would purchase a mechanism or tablet for it from someone that is illiterate? Bad grammar to me shouts out in bright flashing lights: I WISH I HADN'T USED THAT CHEAP INTERNET CRAP ON MY NOW PAINFULLY PURPLE INFLAMED PENIS!!!

Julia's maternity nurse and our friend, Elizabeth, is back with us for a couple of weeks before returning to the USA where she lives. She cannot comprehend my daily dose of two 'Sex And The City' episodes, which I watch at around 10am - taped from the night before. Despite the fact that I've seen them all before, about three times at least, I find the repetition, along with a cup of tea, strangely soothing and reassuring at that time of the morning. Until she begins the questions that is, "Are those women prostitutes?" she asks with a repulsed look on her face. "There seems to be a lot of sex going on with different men. And why do they have to talk about it so much?"

I explain that the programme is reflective of a lot of single women's lifestyles these days, and it's considered pretty normal. She looks at me as if to say, "You did that?!? To which I quickly respond, "Well, not me naturally, I mean I never did that sort of thing, but people I know." Sometimes it's better to lie, especially when you're holding your five month old daughter on your lap and trying very hard to look the part of a good mother.

I think I got off lightly. This week she told off the cashier at Boots for, in her words, smelling heavily of tobacco, and advised that it wasn't prudent for someone that was working in a pharmacy to reek of yesterday's ashtray. Trying hard not to laugh I asked her what the poor man had said in his defence, to which she replied that he'd simply looked down at his shoes with a guilty and remorseful expression on his face.

I imagine he was thinking, "I'm not getting enough money to put up with this shit," but hid it well.

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