Does this make me an arse?

"I just hope I didn't hear you making fun of my name..."

Well. This is embarrassing.

When I asked you all if my response to a street sign meant I was a snob – it turns out that Ursula was right. Except for the “smart” part. It meant I’m an arse.

I blame Maxi for my humiliation. She encouraged me to find out the humiliating truth.

And Laurie can nod knowingly to herself. She sussed out the real picture from the beginning.

So… you remember that sign I was poking fun at for mispelling “daley bread”. You might recall my hoity toity pernickety I’m-not-buying-bread-there-they-can’t even-spell snobby attitude.

Yup, that sign.

Well. You’ll never guess the surname of the people who run the premises?

Mmm. Yes. They’re called Smith.

Phew. Thank goodness for that.

The End.

Actually. No.

Following Maxi’s UNHELPFUL comment (“If it were me though, I would be in there tryin’ out the bread, would have to know”) I pushed open the door and

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Keep your mouth shut at the school gate

Sometimes it’s better not to say anything at the school gate. That reputed snakepit of gossip, politics, cliques and scrutiny. And if you are foolish enough to open your big mouth, then it really is best to shut it again as soon as possible.

 Because carrying on won’t help. Oh no. The hole will just take on cavernous proportions, the better to echo your indiscretion.

I don’t know if this applies particularly to fathers – women and other adults may be equally stupid. You tell me.

But this afternoon I had the pleasure of watching a dad’s foot accelerate towards his mouth. Rather than braking or steering away from trouble, he went into crash test dummy mode.

It was only a slight slip to begin with