Out-Smugging the Smug Mum

You’ve been subjected to tales of how fantastic little Destiny is every morning at the school gate, smiled through gritted teeth at tales of ballet recitals, piano grades passed easily, and general excellence in everything she does.    

You glance at the impeccably dressed Destiny, she’s performing a complicated skipping routine whilst singing a French nursery rhyme to an adoring crowd.  Your own daughter nearby has hair coming out of her bunches, clothes already stained and she’s awkwardly attempting wrestling moves with the boys, flashing her underwear.   

Destiny’s mum catches you looking and doesn’t hesitate to elevate her little darling’s status whilst lowering yours: “maybe she’ll grow out of the tomboy stage” she’ll sneer before launching into a monologue about how Destiny is sooo good at picking her own clothes and what a style queen she is at 5.

One day you’re finally brow beaten into accepting a play-date. Knowing the reason for the occasion is for mum and daughter to show off and inflict an inferiority complex on the both of you.

The date starts predictably; their house is like a showroom, expensive furniture, wall to wall thick cream carpets that wouldn’t last a week in your home.  Destiny’s bedroom is a shrine of pink with nothing out of place.

Your feelings of inadequacy are multiplying by the minute until lunch, when a weakness is revealed: not only does Destiny not have any table manners, she’s also an incredibly picky eater.  It gets better as this is clearly the mother’s Achilles’ heel.  She’s desperate to get her daughter to behave at the table and her escalating stress levels are clear. Food that she’s lovingly prepared with the finest organic ingredients is pulled apart, sneered at, pushed away.  A tantrum flares up, there’s shouting, there are tears, Destiny is punished with ‘time out’.

Meanwhile your own daughter has quietly eaten all her lunch. Remembering to say ‘please’ and ‘thank-you’ at the appropriate times, even complimenting the food without prompting.

“How do you get her to eat so well?” says Destiny’s mum, eyes welling with tears.

“She’s always been a great eater” you reply, resisting the urge to punch the air in triumph.

“And such good table manners too.” she continues, sniffing into a tissue.

Overruling your natural instinct to be modest you boast “She was using a knife and fork properly at 18 months.  She’s always been a joy to take to restaurants.”  OK, so it’s a lie, but she’s not to know, right?

You never hear about Destiny’s ballet or piano classes again as her mum develops an inability to look you in the eye, quickly turning away if you catch her gaze. You allow yourself a little smirk, who’s smug now!?

photo credit