Sunday, 3 July 2011

Me, Myself and I

When I first wrote my book, I coined a new phrase for the arrogant end of the yummy mummy brigade - ‘the Meemies’.  You know the type?  “It’s all about me, me, me.”

After attending my son’s graduation today, I feel fully justified in showing the type up for what they really are.  They’re a breed unto themselves and deserve to be exposed and shamed - or their social crimes do. I’m not making sweeping generalisations about wealthy women - just the blatant disregard for common decency exhibited by a certain strain.

Here I shall outline the seven deadly sins of the Meemies:

SELF IMPORTANCE - “Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn about you and your menial little life.  I’m far too busy turning the conversation around to me, the incompetence of my staff and my next skiing holiday in Val d'Isère.  What makes you think I’m here to talk to or about you?”
As long as you’re prepared to be bored sh*tless, nod in the appropriate places and ooh and aah at her latest designer acquisition, you too could have a Meemie as a friend for life.

BRAILLE PARKING - this hapless species feels it’s best to firmly close her eyes and, once the neighbouring car has been tapped or bashed, realise she’s just a little too close.  That said, she’ll nestle the Range Rover nicely into place anyway and leave no room for the other driver or passengers to get in or out of the car.  She’ll text whilst driving, feed children, apply make up and hold everyone up at traffic lights.  With her self-absorbed “I’m the only person on this planet who matters” attitude, she glides through her very important life, and woe-betide you if you get in her way.

VULGAR AFFLUENCE - Meemies cannot accept that not everyone is as well off as they are.  After all, you have children at private school so you must also be able to live the high-life.  Hence, parents’ social dinners will set you back up to a hundred quid a head and class collections for leaving teachers can be anything up to twenty.  Kids’ parties become a competition, as if there’s a prize for the one with the most dosh thrown at it.

BRAGGING - a top sport for the Meemie.  “Little Anushka is the most popular girl in her class.  And as for Zebedee, he’s a top rugby star and all round stud.” They can’t seem to take it on board that we all think our children are the best/brightest/prettiest but keep it to ourselves.  So what if Academic Archibald finished an IQ test in ten seconds flat, he’ll never be liked because he’s living with the curse of them bigging him up all the time and the burden of having to live up to their expectations.

IMMUNITY TO QUEUING - fellow customers seem to be totally invisible to the Meemie.  If there’s a queue, it’s not intended for her.  Tactics employed are ‘acting terribly busy and flustered and not realising what you’ve done’ and ‘oh that’s my very dear friend at the front of the queue so I can just hop-scotch my way to join her.  If you dare to confront them, you’re the one showing yourself up by making a fuss.

VOLUME - they only have two settings, and that’s LOUD and LOUDER!  The trouble is they love the sound of their own voices and what spews forth is frightfully important so it must be heard by all and sundry.  The increase in volume becomes self-perpetuating - as one ups the ante, they all have to.  And with the banal chatter comes the high-pitched cackling.  And the more Moët that’s sunk the louder it gets.  Have paracetamol to hand.

LACK OF DEPTH - There may be children starving in Africa and pensioners without enough cash to see them through the week but what really matters is that the Meemie has her Jimmy Choos, her seven holidays a year and a new designer hand bag every three months.  It’s all tragically sad and all that, but they’re just too busy to get involved in any worthwhile causes - unless it’s to attend boozy charity events as arm candy to their publically benevolent husbands.  And even then, the cost of the Moët chucked down their throats would be enough to drill a dozen wells or bus a group of pensioners to Brighton for the day.  The gym takes up a lot of the week, then there’s shopping, lunching and social events - what’s a girl to do?

So that’s the low-down on the Meemie for you and now you know what to look out for.  But be careful, be very careful.  Do not approach them.  They can be vicious and cut you to shreds with one lash of their tongue.

You’ve been warned!

Meet the Meemies in Diary of a Mummy Misfit on Amazon for Kindle or PC.  Now also available in paperback at Lulu.

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