It’s been one of those days. Your friend cancels the longingly anticipated lunch date at the last minute, and as nobody else is available on short notice (and because you don’t really have that many friends anymore), you grab the baby and venture out on your own. After all, this was the day you were going to treat yourself to a new summer dress.
After about 100 laps around the block, you finally find a parking spot and unfold the buggy, not without severely pinching your skin in one of the ‘3-steps-easy-peasy-unfolding-spots’ of the damn thing. You breathe in. You breathe out.
Destination: Le Pain Quotidien. You order slices of bread for the baby and a slice of quiche for yourself. The baby is munching happily on the bread whilst you sip mineral water. 40 minutes later, a waitress comes up to you and asks if anything was wrong. You make a mental note to stop displaying your innermost emotions on your forehead and tell her that you are still waiting for your food. The waitress goes bright red and admits to have forgotten your order.
You decide to forget about lunch, again, and savour what’s left of the saliva-soaked bread.
The wind is icy, but the sun warms your faces. You had walked past Matches on your way to the coffee shop and promised yourself to pop in later. You are going to keep that promise. The shop assistant stares at you as you struggle to open the door whilst heaving the buggy over the front step. You feel out of place before you are even in.
Maybe you should try Selfridges. You stroll around the ground floor where they sell selected items of Topshop’s vast collection. You have a closer look at a cheap imitation of a silky, nude coloured Chloe look-alike dress and decide that it will look just that on you – cheap.
The 2nd floor stocks more age appropriate close. You pass four sales girls, absorbed in deep conversation. Unsurprisingly, nobody comes to your help when the jeans that you tried on aren’t the right size. For that kind of price you’d had expected a little more attention. You get dressed again and leave the jeans in the changing room.
Leaving Selfridges empty handed, you feel old and inadequate. You run back to the car, only to pick the parking fine from the windscreen after being two minutes late. The baby goes into plank-position and screams as if you’d torture her as you are trying to get her back into the car seat.
Coming home, you are glad to learn that the decorator is almost finished with the things you asked him to do this morning. You’ll find out later that he used the wrong colour, leaving your walls tie-dyed.
You switch into speedy mode and feed the baby, bath the baby, sing to the baby, cuddle the baby, and put the baby to bed.
That bottle of Cava in the fridge has your name written all over it.