Explicit behavior instructions had been issued when she allowed me to accompany her. I had to look the part to compete with those rich-bitch, tennis-playing yummy-mummies from Scotts and Shore, and I obviously had to control my gob, which is no mean feat, especially when my back’s against the wall.
After much rummaging through the Pandora’s Box I call a wardrobe, and amid the usual female wails of ‘I haven’t got any clothes’, I decided upon my nearly-new Ssusan black and caramel striped jacket (which for some reason always provokes rockstar/ADHD son to buzz at me), skinny black jeans to prove I’m not as old as my face betrays and vintage brown boots. I knew I’d be ok as long as I could keep my sunnies on (at all times) to disguise my un-botoxed crowsfeet, which were still recovering from a spontaneous over-helping of Chardonnay the night before. Yes, I really am THAT responsible. (It was a Friday night!)
To ram the point home, in that dictatorial, (some might call it scary), manner that she has when speaking to her mother, nerd child had instructed me to imagine that I had tape over my mouth if I felt the urge to release an inappropriate comment; like I was some filter-less retard who can’t control what comes out of my mouth at any given time. You don’t argue with the tween; she’s like some over-zealous Germaine Greer type throwback and is not one to mince her words and highly generous with her scorn.
Interesting facts about Quantum physics don’t exist, so I wasn’t tempted to verbalise anything very much for the first hour of ‘interesting’ talks, instead whiling away my time focusing on controlling my latent talent for yawning in between yawns, and questioning why the potentially attractive nerdy lecturer didn’t die the grey out of her hair.
I then fidgeted my way uneasily through a face-to-face discussion about geophysics with another ‘expert’ in the field, (it apparently concerns rocks and tectonic plates and highly academic sh*t like that), and finally, just as I was on the verge of opening my mouth in distress like some petulant toddler, we were released from Nerd prison into the sunlight of the adjacent quad where I almost orgasmed over coffee and ‘real people’ (who do interesting subjects like all of the arts) rather than the brain cell dominant group we had left behind, lurking uncomfortably in the presence of the world.
So I get my best swanning swagger on, just to make it clear that ‘yes, ‘I did produce this gorgeous-looking brainiac’, but before I could jack up my depleted energies with a much-needed caffeine hit, (and I can only put it down to the psychedelic attraction of the infamous ‘bee’ jacket), we were suddenly accosted by a team videoing the whole event on behalf of the university, who asked us if we would be interested in answering some questions on camera about my own university experience in relation to nerd child’s application.
I locked eyes with Nerdie to check that it was ok for me to release the tongue by pulling the invisible tape off the filter-less pit for my sixty seconds of prestigious uni fame, and she seemed unusually chillaxed in my presence, (no doubt still wallowing in all that rock formation and logarithm talk), and she naively surprisingly nodded her acquiescence.
‘So, Mrs Simmonds, if you had one thing to pass on to your daughter that you learned from your university experience, what would it be?’
‘Hmmmmm, let me think……….(searching in recesses of wine-addled brain), I think it would probably have to be my alcoholic tolerance.’
Blank, uneasy stares.
Have you embarrassed your children recently? I really don’t care if you have or you haven’t, JUST SOMEONE COMMENT SO I KNOW THERE’S SOMEONE OUT THERE!