The Smiting of Cassandra

So, the good news for religious types, is that all the evidence since my last post, appealing to the Almighty, points to the suggestion that there is a God.  The bad news is that clearly the smug omnipotent bastard hates me.  Therefore I am choosing to continue to deny his existence till he deigns to do something nice for me.  Until such time, I declare him to simply be an nasty imaginary cunt.

The smitings and woe began apace this morning.  After the severe judging when Saff somehow forgot to collect the Beast the other day, I thought I had better show willing and take the Beast all the way to the school gate, instead of leaving him at the end of the road and skipping to the shop to buy pain au chocolats to take home and eat all by myself in blissful silence. 

So I brushed my hair, and even removed the worst of the previous day's eyeliner, and we set off, the Beast, the Terror and I.  All went so well, no wildlife appeared for the Terror to kill, the Beast successfully avoided falling in mud, we were positively fucking wholesome, I toyed with skipping!  That was my first smite, lulling me into a false sense of security.

As we neared the school, and more parents and moppets appeared, and I called out cheery greetings, the Terror began to get a certain look in his eye.  I should know that look by now, that says "I'm bored, and I shall entertain myself by embarrassing you as much as possible."  The Beast gets it too.  He struck approximately 25 yards from the school gate, suddenly squatting, and producing a large turd by sheer will power, as everyone looked on aghast. 

Having scooped his offering, still shame faced and muttering dark curses at the Terror, we progressed to the gate, where the new headmistress was standing, graciously welcoming parents and children. 
"Oh, Cassandra" shrieked Smug Blonde Mummy "Have you met the new Head?  Mrs Smellie, this is Cassandra, the Chair of the PTA."
I was forced into doing my 'proper person's' face and rigid smile, making polite small talk, while clutching my little sack of shit (the poo bag, not my son)
"So, are you enjoying your new job?  How are you finding the school?"  when I realised she was staring down in horror.

Following her gaze, I encountered the Terror, eyes closed in ecstasy, humping her American Tan clad leg in bliss. What made this so much worse is he is not a humper!  He never humps!  He's even had his bits off!  The humping was a cynically calculated move by the little bastard to humiliate me yet further.  Being British, I of course made no reference to the humping, but simply gave a brisk "Lovely to meet you, must be off." 

Next up, I had to brave the supermarket, to buy supplies for Saff's upcoming Duke of Edinburgh expedition.  For once I was glad we do not have a Waitrose within striking distance and was happy to slum it in Tesco, for I could not buy such shameful things in lovely Waitrose.  I had been issued a list consisting of things like 'Pot Noodles', 'Instant Porridge', 'Super Noodles' and 'Jelly Babies'.  The only thing on that list I recognised was Jelly Babies. 

Arriving at Tesco, I realised the only thing I could find was Jelly Babies, and also I had made the school girl error of coming on Pension Day, when the aisles are crowded with ancient crones, hell bent on deriving maximum entertainment from squandering their gin allowance, by spending the afternoon wantonly impeding other shoppers. 

Having found the Jelly Babies, I set off in search of the Shitey Noodle Aisle, and found it nowhere.  After ramming the 17th pensioner to get in my way, I gave up and tearfully ate the Jelly Babies.  This gave me a renewed sense of purpose, as I could return to the aisles I knew and fetch more Jelly Babies.  I got extra bags this time, as I knew I was in for the long haul and would need to keep my strength up. 

Several hours later, by now haggard and desperate and twitching with Jelly Baby overdose, the aged ones strewn in my sugar crazed wake, I located Shitey Noodle Aisle.  And who knew there were so many shitey noodles in the world to choose from?  Panicking, lest I bought the wrong shitey noodles and was sent back to try and locate Shitey Noodle Aisle again, I flung every variety of noodle I could find into the trolley, to nestle amidst the empty Jelly Baby bags. 

From Shitey Noodle Aisle, I blasted straight to the checkout, where I unloaded my trolley full of crap, surveyed the conveyor belt and realised it looked just too too Jeremy Kyle, and thus felt obliged to explain to the cashier about my daughter and her D of E expedition, and noodles are very light and actually they usually totes get their five portions and... and... and ...and... as I was smacked off my tits on Jelly Babies, all she probably hear was high pitched shrieks only the dolphins could comprehend.

At this point the conveyer belt decided to break, and a second staff member had to be summonsed to manually shove the industrial quantities of noodles along, who also had to be given the lengthy speech about how I'm really very middleclass and I can totally explain the noodles.

After school, some far flung friends popped in for a cup of tea on their way home from the frozen North.  The last time we saw these friends, the Terror killed one of their aged, disabled cats.  The Beast insisted on repeatedly asking how many cats they had now and saying "I'm sure you had more than that, didn't you have one with 3 legs?"   Oh, if only it was socially acceptable outside of Jeremy Kyle circles to shout "SHUT THE FUCK UP" at your offspring.

Finally, the DC desired a barbecue for dinner.  Just as he lit it, it began to rain.  Fucking Almighty.