The result of taking over The Incubator's duties coupled with my very own? Eggs-effing-hausted.
I've driven 300 kms. Been to one super effing long meeting in which The Daughter told my boss, "Mommy's Boss, I'd like to go home right now." Been to two malls (still hectic - go back to work everyone, for crying out loud). Bought two pairs of shoes (none for self. Fail.) Been to three cellphone shops. Have I eaten? Crikey. Did not buy food for supper. Father is going to be hungry.
And more importantly. Is there wine in the house? Wine is very important for mental wrap-around of tomorrow's agenda.
So when The Incubator left, she simply said, "Please make sure that Enormous Son of Maid is sorted out for his first day of high school." No problem, right?
Apart from having parted with more cash than I'd like to believe possible (surely school shoes aren't that expensive. And blazers? Are they Versace? Crumpets.), and spent more hours behind the wheel of my beloved Wanda than I'd like to have, I've been cast in the role of Stand-In Parent tomorrow.
Yes, I have to go to a "New Boys' Lunch" at his new school. On the agenda it says I need to attend a chapel service and witness the planting of a tree. And then join all the other new parents for a finger lunch.
It's the finger lunch I have huge problems with:
1) I don't eat fingers. I never have. And I'm not about to start simply because I am considered for the day to be Parent of Private School Boy.
2) If they're not serving fingers, is a 'Finger Lunch' some kind of rich people's first base orgy? I'm not in. I'm so not in, I'm positively out. But say I had to be in. What would I wear? What is the appropriate attire for mingling and fondling of random rich people parents?
I'm going to be the youngest person at the function by a good fifteen years. Some people might snicker, "She started young." They'd be right. Except I don't think they allow sub-teens to adopt. Something about the whole "be able to provide for child" thing.
Yup, I'm looking forward to this event just about as much as I would be for an episiotomy.
The only thing that is dragging me there is Single Dad Appeal. Because The Pant could be renamed 'Flirty Gerty' at the minute. She could very much like, at least, just a little eye candy.
Please Lord - just a little, to get me through.