It’s hard being Strawmum

I arrive at the school gates and my heart sinks. Why? I’m immaculately dressed, hair coiffed to within an inch of its life. At home and work, that’s how I usually look. Looking immaculate is my choice. But when I’m surrounded by a gaggle of other mums in jeans, their hair a mess, I feel ridiculous. I stand out, and I don’t like it. I can’t bear the judgmental looks.

I guess I’ve always been different. While other girls were content to collect insects or take engines apart, I craved dolls to play with. As we got older and my teenage pals started reading science fiction, I was the odd one out again: interested in boys and fashion.

Now I’m collecting my two bright, well-behaved children from the school gates and I can feel the other mums’ eyes burning into my Chanel suit. OK, so I look great – is that a crime? OK, so I can’t claim to be “frazzled”. Do they really hate me for being organised and looking smart? Don’t these women have anything else to do with their lives?

But who am I kidding? I’m just jealous. I’m jealous that they all get paid to write columns about how inadequate I make them feel. What’s the plural of “odd one out”, anyway? Because I’ve counted about 30 of them in the last ten minutes.

(Inspired by this.)

Explore posts in the same categories: domestic, women's magazines

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