On Wednesday Girl was talking about the biatches in the schoolyard (and they are biatches babe, I agree with Buns, you little hottie, you) and I felt for her.

I hate being snubbed. I want everyone to like me. And if you don’t, I will fret about it. The vestiges of being a painfully shy child. Autism beat that out of me. The daily fighting with everyone to get what Boo was due has made me stronger.

But there are some women in the schoolyard that snub me. They are not the Muffia, they, believe it or not, actually like me. I guess I am their little charity case. Talk to the Mum with the kid with the disability…. yeah whatever.

The particular mothers I am talking about are what we affectionately refer to as ferals. The rough, wharfy voiced too-tight-tracksuit-wearing, um, trailer trash???? You know the ones, their kids are called Shakira and Shapelle and sporting a three day old snail trail of snot across their faces? And they all have that laugh, the one that makes you whip ’round and say ‘What the freaking hell is that?’

And no-one owns shoes.

Yeah, those ones.

I have tried to chat with them. When they are alone, they are fine. All chatty and ‘hows it goin’. But get two or more of ’em together….. well I am not longer worth talking to.

Ferals are snubbing me.

I actually talked to P (Boo’s teacher) about it. Oh, how he laughed. Asshat. Then asked me why I cared.

I don’t know.

I am not interested in talking about what they talk about, I don’t want their dirty kids crawling all over me and I wouldn’t invite them over for coffee…

So why do I care?

Cause they are judging me. Because I don’t come to school barefoot, I wear fabulous shoes. Because I don’t smell like eu de BO, but perfume. Because I don’t scream across the school yard ‘Get back here you bastard or I will thump ya’ ( although sometimes I want to). Because I brush my freaking HAIR…

hmmmm, who is judging who? But I try and talk to them. They sneer at me. I walk to the classroom and pass them sitting on the steps and they go quiet and stare.
The other day I was standing in the hall waiting for Boo to come out of class. One of the ferals walked in, alone. I said hi, she said hi. We did the small talk thing. She asked me if I thought it was going to rain on the weekend.

Then one of her mates lumbered in. She turned her bra-strap-disappearing-into-her-fat back on me!

‘So ya recon it’s gunna rain on Sat-di’ she yelled to her mate. 2 feet away from her.

Isn’t that what she just asked me?

‘Dunno. Betta put up the tent just in case tho. Gunna be a freakin’ awesome party. Kids are pumped. Everyone comin’?’

‘Yeh. Most’a da kids in da class’

Huh? ‘most’a da kids in da class’? Boo didn’t get an invite. Boo plays with the less feral of the two’s daughter. The one holding the party.

Boo has her on the top of the list of invites to his party.

Boo is not invited and the fucking feral broadcast it in front of me!

The lumbering mate announces ‘I gotta pee’ and shuffles off.

Feral no 1 turns to me. Smiles.

‘you know’ I smile sweetly at her ‘I heard that it is going to be lovely weather on the weekend. I don’t think you will need a tent. The kids will probably knock it down anyway’ saccharine smile again.

Apparently it is supposed to rain. Apparently there are strong wind warnings and the chance of hail.

Apparently some woman in fabulous shoes will be doing rain dances……

Yeah?

Well, she started it!

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