INCIDENT REPORTS

A FROSTY RECEPTION – AKA. THE ARSEHOLE WOMAN


FOREWORD

Last week, my youngest son – that’s Son 2, the 4 year old with the voice (and attitude) of a reclusive French Canadian Bear Trapper – started School.  He’s in that annoying half day phase that’s ostensibly aimed at “phasing kids into the School system”, but in reality just gives the Teachers time to fill out paperwork.

Probably.  I mean, I overheard one of the other parents saying that, and she was a Teacher, so…

Anyway, that half day translates as 2 and a bit hours on an afternoon for couple of weeks.  Given how notoriously tight lipped my kid is, I’ve heard nothing whatsoever about what they get up to.  Other than that maybe Goldilocks was read on one of the days, and he keeps doing a Flamingo impression all of a sudden.  Oh, and he knows the Hokey Cokey now.

SHOPPING AND SHIT

The immediate hour following the 09:00 school run is spent wandering to and from the shops.  You always need milk and that – or wet wipes, maybe – plus the route usually affords a few minutes of pissing about in a park.  After that, the next couple of hours are filled with cartoons, dinner, a poo, and then off to School.

It was on my way back from the morning supply run – which had involved the purchase of an 8 pack of Sainsbury’s own brand sausages – that the inciting incident occurred.

INCITING INCIDENT

Whilst dawdling along home, chit chatting in a bawdy French Canadian patois, Son 2 suddenly pointed ahead.

“Zeres ma FRENDS!”

…And so it was.  Two small twin girls on pink Scooters, who I didn’t recognise in the slightest.  However, as they were both calling my son by name I felt safe to assume that they were in the same Reception class.  The girl’s mother – a short, well dressed woman – followed hot on their heels.

It was all smiles.  A nice, standard, parental stop and chat.

MOTHER

“Hi”, I said.  Basically as a catch all for all three.

“Hello,” said the mother.  She then went on to introduce her daughters in really quite a formal way.  They had cutesie, Jamie Oliver style names.  Well they didn’t, but go with it.  ONE of them had a bit of a wanky first name.

I exchanged a few pleasantries with the girls, and then – for the benefit of the Mother – provided a name for my offspring.

“So this is [NAME REDACTED].”

“Hah… Yeah, he’s -”

“YOU’RE the one who was doing the pushing.”

A sudden chill filled the air.

Oh, I thought.  This has gone weird.

CONFRONTATION

“AND he pulled my hair!” Piped up one of the smiling twins, pulling one of her pig tails by means of demonstration.

“AND mine Mummy!” Confirmed the other twin, performing the same mime, still smiling her ass off.

“Yes,” said the Mother, not taking her eyes off my 4 year old.  I’m not even sure she’d blinked yet.  “You and Florence.”

You could hear the italics in her voice.

Florence – incidentally – is a name I’ve made up for another girl in the class, one whom my boy definitely knocks about with.

“Oh,” I said, still wrong footed by the sudden switch to combat mode.

RECONCILIATION

Attempting to recover some lost ground, I turned to my non-plussed second born – “And… Uh.  Did you say sorry at the time?”

“Yuss,” he ventured.

“Yes,” continued the Mother – who, frankly, I’d not warmed to.  “It was on the first day, wasn’t it?”

Nothing from Son 2.

“Uuuuugh…” I said.

At this point, it’s worth noting again that I’d heard nothing about any of this.  From the school I mean.

REPORTS OF WRONGNESS IN THE UNDER FIVES

Normally, if your small child breaks wind in class, you get collared at the end of the day and issued with a polite warning about the dangers of greenhouse gas.  Son 2 carelessly chucked a bit of wooden train track in nursery a few months back, and the bint in charge reacted as though he’d written a several thousand word anti-Semitic novella.

That kind of thing.

The fact that this hair tugging / ill-defined pushing business was news to me, instantly made my bullshit alarm go off.  Still, I suppose he COULD have done it.  He’s certainly back heeled me in the face a few times, hard enough to mangle my geps.  AND he continually slaps me in the back in an attempt to get me to chase after him.

But violent towards other kids?  Naaaaah.

Granted, I once watched him gently push a small child in the belly, who then fell off a climbing frame and stared crying…  But that kid was a big crybaby wuss, and the fruit of my loom was clearly pretending to be a monster at the time.

….Naaaah.  It was clearly bullshit.  Clearly.

BACK TO THE COLD WAR OF WORDS

“Uuuuggh,” I continued, not sure whether to dig in and have a go at this barely concealed, one sided argument.

“It’s alright,” issued the Mother, exposing her teeth in what may have been a smile. “He already apologised.”

“Uh, alri -”

“And she doesn’t hold a grudge, so it’s fine.  Neither of them do.”

“Grud….  No?  Good. Uhh – ”

“Great!  Well, we’ll see you this afternoon then!  BYE!”

All smiles again, off they went.

CODA

“Did…” I asked, after we’d continued on our way.  “Did you push either of those girls?”

“…sh the gulls.”

“Did you?”

Silence from the small man.  Tight lips.

“Okay.  Well, if you did, don’t.”

More not bothered silence.

“She was kind of an arsehole though, huh?”

“…Sole.”

“Don’t repeat that.”

END

There you go then.  Pick the change out of that.

TC

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