Something weird is occurring; I seem to be developing an attitude. And not a pretty one at that. You see, all my life I've been a People-Pleaser. If anybody needs anything doing, I'll oblige:
"Yes, of course I'll have your child overnight/sort out your problems/walk your dog/clean your house/lend you money/give you sound advice." And, what's more, I'll put myself out and manage it all with a smile on my face. I'm just a single mum: I have nothing better to do, after all.
Last week, I took my boys for pizza. We waited half an hour for the wrong order, nobody would serve us drinks, and the waitress became shirty when I followed her around trying to arrange desserts. The old me would have smiled, "Oh, it's okay. Don't worry. I can see you're busy."
The new me stomped across to the Manager and let rip about the ineptitude of his staff and establishment:
"I'm so sorry, Madam; the college across the road is having an Open Evening. The extra customers have taken us by surprise."
"That is hardly my problem, nor a surprise; the Open Evening is an annual event. After ten years' of trading opposite the college, you should have the forethought to liase with them, and staff these premises accordingly."
My kids were glued to their seats, eyebrows in their hairlines and eyes zinging around on springs.
It's the closest I've ever come to having a tantrum, and boy, was it fun.
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