Excuse my French
The author of this column prefers not to divulge her name and whereabouts to avoid being a target on the playground. She has been successful in avoiding PTA obligations, first by not knowing what it was anyway (aaah, bloody Frenchies..) and after having forgotten not to ask, by slaloming her way between a certain amount of English speaking schools in various countries until it fell upon her on one English grey postnatal depressed morning.
Since then, she’s still trying to figure what has got into her as she has no time anymore for her favourite soap operas or for chatting online non sense with abroad friends or not even to try to figure out what has got into her. You, yourself will try to figure out why she would even add to this evident non sense of hers by writing about it in really poor English...but well at least we are even. Welcome to the club or more precisely the Committee.
You should know at that point that we are talking serious here. Some sacrifices have been done: she had to buy a business planner to write in things like “lunch with Summer Fair subcommittee”, to talk to more than two people a day and these people not being sales person at the supermarket round the corner, and to learn how to say "thank you for your comments" when all she wants is to scream "well, just come and do it next year, you *** (fill the space with your favourite, my treat).
Her 4 kids have to put up with nastiness too: no more organic meals forced down, frozen lasagna round the week since she's too busy baking for the bake sale and no more yoga/ballet/gym/karate/tennis driving around, go play on your WII and let me write the newsletter which should have gone out in December.
She will stay happily married unless she can’t find someone to help her husband flip 250 burgers on the BBQ for the next Summer Fair.
Fingers crossed.
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