I suppose I could give up work and spend all day shopping
December 22, 2007
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Thursday brought our team Christmas lunch at Posh Marco Pierre White London Restaurant at the Criterion. Due to a babysitting cock-up, my boss’s youngest son (three years old) came with us. I was one of the four people who took the same taxi as my boss and his son from the office to the restaurant, so I was standing around with him as a discussion was taking place between my boss and the maitre d’ about whether said small boy would fit in the restaurant’s high chairs. The maitre d’ then looked at me and said:
"What does mum think?"
… [a moment of stunned silence] "Really not my child," I managed to squeak out.
I’m not sure what’s more disturbing – being assumed to be a mum (me! Thrice voted Least Maternal Woman on the Planet, last year narrowly beating Cruella de Ville!), the maitre d’ thinking anyone with so clear a lack of interest could be the boy’s mother, or the idea that I could be married to my boss. Who’s 20 years older than me. Which would make me a trophy wife, I guess.
Oh god. I’m burying my face in my hands once again, at the very thought.