Old bints vs the rise of the pram army.
Who would win?
It's a tough one...I was always brought up to respect your elders and try and instil the same sage advice into my small things.
I ensure they hold doors open for the older generation and when the nine year careers into one of them there old people from a different time, I ensure he apologises for his high jinks and understands that his running around is only upsetting the old one because he can't run that fast anymore.
On my return from the shower resplendent in a leopard skin beach towel, the area where I had placed my lone bag was surrounded by the older generation (and cupcakes) who had just appeared from their aqua aerobics bounce session.
Busy discussing their class (as we all do) and the cupcake recipe for Doreen's birthday (as we all do) not one of them moved to the side so I could even get to my bag to retrieve my office uniform. I'm not sure the leopard skin beach towel is appropriate meeting wear - even in today's modern casual climes.
Respecting my elders (as I always do) I smiled (through gritted teeth) and politely asked if I could retrieve my gym bag from the midst of the cauldron. I was ignored. Completely and utterly dripping wet and invisible.
Once again I politely and a wee bit louder (taking into account the possibility that hearing aids may have become water logged during said aqua class) asked if they could move.
Finally one of the 'ladies' moved to the side so I could squeeze into a small gap WHERE MY BAG WAS FIRST and retrieved said bag. I even said Thank you. I then managed to get changed having moved all my gym schiz to a different area.
So I was minding my manners, I was respecting my elders, but where was their respect for me. They could while away the day eating cupcakes with Doreen but not one of them had the good grace to move aside so I could also get changed. Or even for that matter move aside so I could get my blinkin' bag.
And then there was the mirror fiasco. Doreen's precious cupcakes had been placed on the ONE free dressing area where one dries one's hair (something else I deem relatively important when attending a client meeting). I painstakingly picked my way once again through the Gaggle of Grannies to find the hairdryer and the cupcakes to place my make-up bag between my knees so that the cupcakes could retain pride of place. I even apologised for having to use said hairdryer in the vicinity of the cupcakes.
As I managed to dry my hair (a bit) and splodge on some mascara, I seethed. Surely respect is a two way street. Surely regardless of generation, rudeness is not acceptable.
Next time, I shall adhere to the stereotype - and simply swipe the seniors to one side while I get on with my day.
Which brings me neatly to the other end of the generation scale - the playground Pram Army. Of course I was never part of such a movement. Mainly because I have always been rushing in and out of the playground as I have never been on time.
Walking down Dog Poo Alley - the entrance to the school drop off point - is an impossible task. I challenge the Ninja Warriors to try that as a test of strength, endurance and free running in training for the TV show. Avoiding small two year olds on scooters whilst mums chat on maternity leave and abandoned prams and wailing babies clog up access to Dog Poo Alley is enough to ensure the day is started with nerves on edge.
This morning the Pram Army was growing its masses - I negotiated three small children on scooters, four abandoned prams and several hoardes of maternity leave mums before it was safe to walk at a normal pace all the way home...
It's a blinkin' good job I was in my gym gear ready for my spin class and the Gaggle of Grannies.
I can't help but wonder which is the most fearful force of nature. The Gaggle of Grannies or the Pram Army. Who would win?
Maybe that's the next winning TV show - stuff the Ninja Warriors - instead let's watch the Gaggle of Grannies negotiate the Pram Army on a school run and then watch the Pram Army muscle their way through the Gaggle of Grannies.
Who would win?
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