Today I met a woman who taught me what I probably already knew – that I'm a judgemental bitch who more often than not doesn't appreciate what she has.
The fam and I went to a nearby beach for the day. It hadn't been an easy morning. Hubby and I had been fighting over something incredibly stupid – I'd tell you what it was if it had been significant enough to remember. It was more one of those fights that are the result of the stress of just being an adult who is not a gazillionaire. The stress of going back to work and coming to face to face with the very real fact that you are "just a teacher". Recognising that the mortgage is eating up so much of your combined income that the much coveted en suite is looking more out of reach than ever. Understanding in some vague way that you are really only a couple of steps away from what used to be called "poverty" (now referred to as "living on credit") but nonetheless spending money you don't have in a pathetic attempt to make you feel better – even for a moment. The stress of knowing that your eldest son is probably not attending the best school for him, but the decision to actually remove him is just too hard. The stress of mother-in-laws and sisters and their endless capacity for pissing people off.
So, by the time we actually got to the beach I was already emotionally worn out. And there they were. The three of them. The thin, leggy blonde with skin that revealed a life of endless beachside holidays (or a really good solarium) in her black Chanel bikini (do people actually buy those?), her dark, muscled, handsome hubby who clearly has the time and the inclination to wake up early to meet his personal trainer, and their four-year-old little princess with her golden curls. I just knew there was a Range Rover with tinted windows parked in the car park. In short the perfect, gorgeous, magazine proof family. Total pukeville.
Princess Golden Curls quickly befriends my little princess, despite my little girl's very unprincess-like peanut butter smeared face, a head full of sand and a pair of little swimmers we all know are filled with more than just the clear blue water of the ocean. And so I am forced to come face to face with Mrs Chanel Bikini. The diamond ring on her wedding finger is bigger than my right butt cheek and worth more than my house. She is sporting the newest Gucci sunglasses and the gusts of wind which were blowing my hair into a freakish "do" seemed to be passing directly over her, not touching even a single blonde strand.
I admit, I assumed Mrs Chanel Bikini would be obnoxious. I assumed she would look down on me in my tatty cheesecloth skirt and old singlet. But the truth is, she was none of that. She was, despite the perfect packaging, a friendly and genuine person. She was incredibly open and forthcoming, so forthcoming that she revealed that she and Mr Muscle had been trying to conceive a second child for the past two years and were now becoming quite desperate. She wistfully told me of her desire to give Princess Golden Curls a little brother or sister as my younger son ran screaming into the waves. She looked on as my eldest son held his younger sister's hand and helped her navigate the shells and seaweed that littered the sand. For the first time I looked at a woman dressed in Chanel and felt nothing but shame for all I had.
I hope Mrs Chanel Bikini is able to give Princess Golden Curls an equally beautiful sibling. I really do hope that she and Mr Muscle are able to expand their perfect family and that they raise those gorgeous children to be as honest and genuine as their mother. And I hope that one day I wear a diamond as big as my right butt cheek.
