I was sitting working at my laptop minding my own business yesterday, when suddenly I was jolted from my laconic acceptance of the status quo.
What? I so much prefer the other ‘f’ word.
It came like a bolt of lightening and tore deep into my considerable flesh.
Miss Fliss is home from school for mid-term break and has been occupying herself on her laptop by watching countless science and health videos. Yesterday’s scientific immersion experience must have been about health because she cheerfully bounded up to me and started to enthuse about the programme.
“I’m learning all about the human body,” she said.
She’s twelve. I wasn’t disquieted We’ve had the birds and bees talk, or as it is today the vagina and penis talk (none of this bollocking around with pseuds, no we’re calling them what they’re called!)
“And they were saying that for young girls it’s all about what their Mum does.”
Uh huh.
Hang on, wait…
I looked up sharply. What have I done wrong now?
“What about their Mums?”
“If she smokes, if she’s obese, if she works…”
No , no, god YES!
“So you’re ok then?”
She looked doubtful.
“I’ve never smoked. Not even one cigarette (or anything else. I am such a good girl). I’m not obese and I do work.”
Please tell me I’m a good role model. Please.
“It’s OK because you’re trying really really hard.”
My face was a question mark. Too hard? Too trying? Not achieving? What?
“But you are…”
She drew in a little breath, much needed oxygen for the desperate descent into dangerous territory.
“…..a tiny bit fat.”
Then she hugged me and bounced off. All size 6 long limbed perfection that she is, leaving me wondering. Am I?
Well yes I guess I am. Bugger.
Personally I think that this F word is way worse than the other one. I quite like the other one, but with this one there’s just no real upside, is there?
