Mini Shopaholic
Page 4
Minnie looks a bit bewildered. But then, I expect I looked a bit bewildered when I took out my first overdraft. It goes with the territory.
‘All sorted.’ I beam at the assistant and hand over my Visa card. ‘We’ll take both ponies, thank you. You see, darling?’ I add to Minnie. ‘The lesson we’ve learned today is: never give up on something you really want. However impossible things seem, there’s always a way.’
I can’t help feeling proud of myself, imparting this nugget of wisdom. That’s what parenting’s all about. Teaching your child the ways of the world.
‘You know, I once found the most amazing opportunity,’ I add as I punch in my PIN. ‘It was a pair of Dolce & Gabbana boots at 90 per cent off! Only my credit card was up to my limit. But did I give up? No! Of course I didn’t!’
Minnie is listening as avidly as though I’m recounting The Three Bears.
‘I went round my flat, and searched in all my pockets and bags, and I collected up all my little coins … and guess what?’ I pause for effect. ‘I had enough money! I could get the boots! Hooray!’
Minnie claps her hands, and to my delight, the toddler boys start cheering raucously.
‘Do you want to hear another story?’ I beam at them. ‘Do you want to hear about the sample sale in Milan? I was walking along the street one day, when I saw this mysterious sign.’ I open my eyes wide. ‘And what do you think it said?’
‘Ridiculous.’ The pebble-eyed woman turns her buggy with an abrupt gesture. ‘Come on, it’s time to go home.’
‘Story!’ wails one of the boys.
‘We’re not hearing the story,’ she snaps. ‘You’re insane,’ she adds over her shoulder as she strides off. ‘No wonder your child’s so spoiled. What are those little shoes of hers then, Gucci?’
Spoiled?
Blood zings to my face and I stare at her in speechless shock. Where did that come from? Minnie is not spoiled!
And Gucci don’t even make shoes like that.
‘She’s not spoiled!’ I manage at last.
But the woman has already disappeared behind the Postman Pat display. Well, I’m certainly not going to run after her and yell, ‘At least my child doesn’t just loll in her buggy sucking her thumb all day, and by the way, have you ever thought about wiping your children’s noses?’
Because that wouldn’t be a good example to Minnie.
‘Come on, Minnie.’ I try to compose myself. ‘Let’s go and see Father Christmas. Then we’ll feel better.’
TWO
There’s no way on earth Minnie’s spoiled. No way.
OK, so she has her little moments. Like we all do. But she’s not spoiled. I would know if she was spoiled. I’m her mother.
Still, all the way to Santa’s Grotto I feel ruffled. How can anyone be so mean? And on Christmas Eve, too.
‘You just show everyone how well behaved you are, darling,’ I murmur determinedly to Minnie as we walk along, hand-in-hand. ‘You just be a little angel for Father Christmas, OK?’
‘Jingle Bells’ is playing over the tannoy and I can’t help cheering up as we get near. I used to come to this exact same Santa’s Grotto when I was a little girl.
‘Look, Minnie!’ I point excitedly. ‘Look at the reindeer! Look at all the presents!’
There’s a sleigh and two life-size reindeer and fake snow everywhere and lots of girls dressed as elves in green costumes, which is a new touch. At the entrance I can’t help blinking in surprise at the elf who greets us with a tanned cleavage. Is Father Christmas finding his elves at glamour model agencies these days? And should elves have purple acrylic nails?
‘Merry Christmas!’ she greets us and stamps my ticket. ‘Be sure to visit our Christmas Wishing Well and put in your Christmas Wish. Father Christmas will be reading them later on!’
‘Did you hear that, Minnie? We can make a wish!’ I look down at Minnie, who’s gazing up at the elf in silent awe.
You see? She’s behaving perfectly.
‘Becky! Over here!’ I turn my head to see Mum already in the queue, wearing a festive twinkly scarf and holding the handles of Minnie’s buggy, which is laden with bags and packages. ‘Father Christmas just went for his tea break,’ she adds as we join her. ‘So I think we’ll be another half an hour at least. Dad’s gone off to look for camcorder discs and Janice is buying her Christmas cards.’
Janice is Mum’s next-door neighbour. She buys all her Christmas cards half-price on Christmas Eve, writes them out on January the first and keeps them in a drawer for the rest of the year. She calls it ‘getting ahead of herself’.
‘All sorted.’ I beam at the assistant and hand over my Visa card. ‘We’ll take both ponies, thank you. You see, darling?’ I add to Minnie. ‘The lesson we’ve learned today is: never give up on something you really want. However impossible things seem, there’s always a way.’
I can’t help feeling proud of myself, imparting this nugget of wisdom. That’s what parenting’s all about. Teaching your child the ways of the world.
‘You know, I once found the most amazing opportunity,’ I add as I punch in my PIN. ‘It was a pair of Dolce & Gabbana boots at 90 per cent off! Only my credit card was up to my limit. But did I give up? No! Of course I didn’t!’
Minnie is listening as avidly as though I’m recounting The Three Bears.
‘I went round my flat, and searched in all my pockets and bags, and I collected up all my little coins … and guess what?’ I pause for effect. ‘I had enough money! I could get the boots! Hooray!’
Minnie claps her hands, and to my delight, the toddler boys start cheering raucously.
‘Do you want to hear another story?’ I beam at them. ‘Do you want to hear about the sample sale in Milan? I was walking along the street one day, when I saw this mysterious sign.’ I open my eyes wide. ‘And what do you think it said?’
‘Ridiculous.’ The pebble-eyed woman turns her buggy with an abrupt gesture. ‘Come on, it’s time to go home.’
‘Story!’ wails one of the boys.
‘We’re not hearing the story,’ she snaps. ‘You’re insane,’ she adds over her shoulder as she strides off. ‘No wonder your child’s so spoiled. What are those little shoes of hers then, Gucci?’
Spoiled?
Blood zings to my face and I stare at her in speechless shock. Where did that come from? Minnie is not spoiled!
And Gucci don’t even make shoes like that.
‘She’s not spoiled!’ I manage at last.
But the woman has already disappeared behind the Postman Pat display. Well, I’m certainly not going to run after her and yell, ‘At least my child doesn’t just loll in her buggy sucking her thumb all day, and by the way, have you ever thought about wiping your children’s noses?’
Because that wouldn’t be a good example to Minnie.
‘Come on, Minnie.’ I try to compose myself. ‘Let’s go and see Father Christmas. Then we’ll feel better.’
TWO
There’s no way on earth Minnie’s spoiled. No way.
OK, so she has her little moments. Like we all do. But she’s not spoiled. I would know if she was spoiled. I’m her mother.
Still, all the way to Santa’s Grotto I feel ruffled. How can anyone be so mean? And on Christmas Eve, too.
‘You just show everyone how well behaved you are, darling,’ I murmur determinedly to Minnie as we walk along, hand-in-hand. ‘You just be a little angel for Father Christmas, OK?’
‘Jingle Bells’ is playing over the tannoy and I can’t help cheering up as we get near. I used to come to this exact same Santa’s Grotto when I was a little girl.
‘Look, Minnie!’ I point excitedly. ‘Look at the reindeer! Look at all the presents!’
There’s a sleigh and two life-size reindeer and fake snow everywhere and lots of girls dressed as elves in green costumes, which is a new touch. At the entrance I can’t help blinking in surprise at the elf who greets us with a tanned cleavage. Is Father Christmas finding his elves at glamour model agencies these days? And should elves have purple acrylic nails?
‘Merry Christmas!’ she greets us and stamps my ticket. ‘Be sure to visit our Christmas Wishing Well and put in your Christmas Wish. Father Christmas will be reading them later on!’
‘Did you hear that, Minnie? We can make a wish!’ I look down at Minnie, who’s gazing up at the elf in silent awe.
You see? She’s behaving perfectly.
‘Becky! Over here!’ I turn my head to see Mum already in the queue, wearing a festive twinkly scarf and holding the handles of Minnie’s buggy, which is laden with bags and packages. ‘Father Christmas just went for his tea break,’ she adds as we join her. ‘So I think we’ll be another half an hour at least. Dad’s gone off to look for camcorder discs and Janice is buying her Christmas cards.’
Janice is Mum’s next-door neighbour. She buys all her Christmas cards half-price on Christmas Eve, writes them out on January the first and keeps them in a drawer for the rest of the year. She calls it ‘getting ahead of herself’.
