And FH learns to say ‘no’. Kind of.
The Fag Hag played God Mummy Fag Hag to a friend’s little darlings this weekend. As three-year-old George clambered up on to my Seven jeans and one-year-old Summer smeared chocolate all over my silk shirt, I smiled reassuringly at his dad. ‘These old things? They were only £150 from Joseph, don’t be silly!’ But I was determined to show I am not just the child catcher in Prada shades.
‘READ IT!’ commanded George, pointing at a battered copy of Mr. Noisy. Every time I’d break off to talk to his dad, he’d look at me challengingly, ‘YOU ARE NOT READING IT! READ IT!’ ‘Sorry George, I’m so sorry,’ I said getting back to the task. ‘CUT IT!’ he yelled pointing to his food. ‘Oh, yes of course George, will get right to it,’ I pleaded.
Suddenly my friend Julian stared at me in baffled horror. ‘You know you can say ‘no’, Em. Has it ever occured to you that’s where you might be going wrong with men?’ I took on board what he said. Maybe this was what I needed to start doing. ‘No, George,’ I began… and then felt a hot trickle as he emptied his bladder all over my £150 Seven jeans. I think I preferred being a ‘yes’ girl.