I generally try and be a thoroughly decent person in day-to-day life. I smile at passers-by and say a quick hello, I pick up rubbish I see on the street that isn’t mine. I pay my taxes and thank fellow drivers when they let me out of junctions but I have unintentionally managed to become one of the worst people on earth.
I’m up there with kitten kickers, double parkers and dog poo deserters.
I’m a party forgetter.
I have forgotten a child’s party that my daughter was supposed to be attending. I accepted the facebook invitation, commented that we would ‘love to come along’ and then on the day I simply forgot. There I was fumbling through my day, filling the dishwasher, mopping up dog piss, doing some work, organising through clothes and then a sudden smack of realisation hits me with a tidal wave of nausea when I imagine the little girls party with all the balloons and cakes and organised fun, at much expense to the parents – and there I am folding up old knickers. Oh Sh*t, B*llox, F*ck.
How am I so incapable of carrying out normal adult tasks such as writing something down in a calendar? I think they’ve even trained apes to carry out that simple chore. I do that thing where you make a mental note to write it down and three weeks later you go to put it in only to find you’ve missed the event by two days. I’m a serial procrastinator.
I know how hard it is to organise a child’s birthday party, it’s more exhausting than a wedding and almost as expensive. I threw Scarlett a fourth birthday bash and almost had a nose bleed explosion over the stress of sandwich triangles and the correct way to construct a giant paper pom pom bought off Amazon with Chinese instructions and only ten minutes before the guests arrive. If someone had just forgotten our party, which in every parents mind is ‘the party of the century,’ then I would have been outraged!! Then I look in the mirror and realise this isn’t my first party amnesia, I’m now a double party pooper after forgetting one last year too. I’M A MONSTER.
Will my daughter be social outcast because her mother can’t find her way around a Filofax? Seriously though, my four year old has a dazzling social life, maybe there’s people out there you can hire as a sort of PA for preschoolers for children whose parents are inept.
Advice on how to climb out from my cave of shame and make right the wrong is much appreciated. I’m going to be that mum that everyone tuts at in the playground, they’ll turn away and whisper “there she goes, the party pooper”.
I feel like Cersei Lannister in that scene where she walks naked through the city with a shaved head and some religious fanatic chanting “shame, shame, shame” behind her. Maybe I could recreate that through the streets of Collingham as penance…