I warn you males; you may not wish to read this one …. the embarrassment and face-screwing-up material about which I today blog will quite probably not be your cup of earl grey…
I must share a funny (but not funny at all) tale.
Yesterday my 19 yr old daughter and I had to pop to a shop, any shop, for quick supplies (coffee for me and panty pads for her) … and luckily within seconds of daughter squirming with a dull belly ache in the passenger seat, a Waitrose looms large on the roundabout ahead! We park and go inside.
Daughter walks off one way – this is a nearly 20, full-time working/living in London daughter, just so you can picture her – and I go the other. I spend ages locating nespresso capsules and when I finally do so, I can’t decide which flavours to spend a week’s wages on for the new Christmas-purchased machine and decide to give up and buy another tub of Nescafé Azera instant (perfectly acceptable) coffee.
I locate daughter at self-service check out, red in the face as cooked beetroot, near to tears and forlorn. A mature female member of staff is clearly having some altercation with my dangerously pre-menstrual offspring, but I force the protective mummy instinct back in its box (nothing worse for a teenager than an interfering mother) and merely appear on the scene, smiling at the green-striped-clad staff member.
“I haven’t got any ID on me, my bag is in the car, and she won’t let me buy these.” daughter nods towards the offending carrier in which is nestled a box of twenty really quite ordinary and safe sanitary pads.
“Does she need ID?” I calmly ask, but daughter is on a roll now and cuts in,
“You need to be 16 to buy them from here apparently.” slightly embarrassing tone of sarcasm squeezing through the gap between our little group, which is steadily accruing more and more glances.
“Are you having a laugh?” (I think, but manage not to say out loud.)
“I have to see some ID, I’m sorry.” says the well-trained lady, as if my daughter is attempting to buy a bottle of gin.
“I would like to buy them for myself now thank you.” I take a step forward placing myself at the service machine and inbetween them, my blood simmering.
The staff shuffled away and daughter managed to maintain dignity until we left the building.
Have you ever heard of such a rule elsewhere??? I’m quite happy to be educated by anyone who knows the ruling.