Ballet Mums are a funny bunch... most are exactly what you would expect: pushy middle class mummies, who roar into the carpark in 4x4s, 5 minutes late, talking on their iPhone, rushing their older kids about, and completely ignoring the younger ones in tow.
Said younger ones often have a huge wet nappy bulging inside their pumpkin patch jeans (I rarely see a changing bag). I won't be crass enough to tell you what these children are called, but I'm sure you can imagine. Their behaviour is invariably atrocious, and they are only spoken to when Mummy wants to tell them something for the benefit of other Mummies listening in. These things usually go along the lines of "Oh I hope Daddy remembers the parsley and dill on his way home from his meeting". Now I know this sounds like a raging stereotype, but I assure you, I have genuinely heard those very words in a community centre...
The cloud of designer perfume in this community centre today is quite overwhelming. I can pick out Angel, Britney Spears, and possibly Christian Dior today. I've heard at least one hair appointment and 2 nail extension appointments being made/ discussed, a delivery of a £600 buggy, a holiday to Egypt, and a phone call to the builders to check progress on an extension.
As I'm typing this, a 2 year old has been threatened that if she doesn't stop kicking her mum, she won't be going to Spanish lessons tomorrow, which is Saturday. (She doesn’t stop kicking her: maybe she doesn’t fancy Spanish on a Saturday morning?)
So I sit here in the waiting area, typing this on my HTC Desire HD (much better than the iPhone I had last year). I'm glad I decided to wear Christian Dior perfume today (one squirt first thing in the morning - didn't bathe in it). It's fragrance is uplifting, and it isn't a very popular one because I don't follow trends in perfume. I like what I like.
My other daughter who is waiting for her lesson to start, is playing an educational game on her Nintendo DS, and asking what we are having for dinner. Most people where we live Up North call it tea, but I have always made an effort to teach them to say lunch and dinner. If we were having chicken casserole that I had made earlier in the slow cooker, I would gladly tell her. But I've had a busy day, and prepared nothing, so knowing in my heart it is likely to be beans on toast or KFC, I say "I haven't decided yet, we might go out for dinner if Daddy finishes his meeting in time"
Oh God, I'm one of them aren't I?
(Well, in some ways at least. I don't consider myself middle class, I always have a well packed changing bag with me, I never ignore my children, and we drive a Ford Galaxy - families of 6 don't have many transport options!)