Our first trip out to the village. Let me paint you a little picture: the sun is shining, the temperature is up in the something degrees F that people find impressive but I don't understand, and we are off out in the car for a jaunt to the village - to have a look, purchase some essentials and maybe, try out the local ice-cream. All is going well. Skaneateles looks like a postcard. All the houses in the village are original 1800s; white, with pillars on a wrap around porch (always with a couple of rocking chairs in evidence), and many flowers bordering the steps. Beautiful. The front lawns are unfenced and manicured, and trees line the roads. The shops are tourist oriented, selling gifts and the suchlike, apart from the Furrier which sells dead things made into coats. Or bags. (You can pick up a full length mink for $75,000 whereas a black Fox handbag will set you back a mere $300. Anyone?) Tourists wander about, taking photos, eating ice-creams, watching weddings in the park or waiting for the dinner boat to come in to take them for a cruise round the lake. Just lovely. And there is a bookshop, let's not forget. And not just a bookshop. A bookshop cafe. I did mention that this is the perfect place for me to live. One day, when I can leave the children, I will spend a day in there reading books and drinking coffee by the water.
We headed straight for the supermarket, to discover the local fare, and just have a casual nosey about. (You hear such terrible things about American food, I was desperate to know if it was all true. Well, it is. Most of it but that is for another time). We knew we were in a small town right from the word go as a lady approached us, "You're not from round here are you?" Bless her. Turns out she used to be English, or her Dad did or something. Then the little one spotted something he wanted. We declined to buy it for him and, instead of accepting his misfortune like a trooper and suffering his disappointment bravely, he turned into a spitting, scratching, screaming, kicking, shouting lunatic. Right there in aisle four. There are many things that are not acceptable in American society and I believe I am right in saying that throttling your kids in the supermarket is one of them. We tried reasoning, then cajoling, then some more reasoning. Nothing. People were gathering in groups and whispering behind their hands. You can just hear it can't you? "They're new in town, from Australia they said, perhaps that's the way children behave over there, well I never.....".
I broke. I'm ashamed to say it but I did. I may have even raised my voice just a little. Foolishly, I issued an ultimatum, you know the kind of thing: if you don't stop that right now, I will put you in the car and there you will stay. Still nothing.
Five minutes later,where were we? In the car, reputations ruined and the day's plans forgotten. I'd had to physically pick him up, tuck him under my arm and march straight out of the door, with him still screaming, kicking and shouting How the staring, muttering crowd delighted in my flight.
And perhaps even worse than that? I left Jodi to choose the groceries. Silly, silly, silly.
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahah! Dear oh deary me! aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaa!
ReplyDelete"Of course, my child would never behave like that..." *said in upper class British accent* "...she was raised in a proper colony, New Zealand, manner get taught there, don't you know...."
Sounds glorious!