Preachy Mum


Am I incapable of expressing myself on her level?  Where did my mothers instinct go?  I seem to always say the wrong thing. 

I was just trying to teach my daughter a bit of a life lesson, you know, some good-old-fashioned guidance.  It was regarding something she said which I thought was a bit snooty but clearly I totally misjudged the moment.  

We were our way to school and it went something like this :

The car in front was a nifty, nippy little peugeot and a very nice one too.  My daughter said it was horrible.  She said it was a chav car. 

I said oh and asked her what a chav was.

She told me a chav was someone who lived in a council-house, wore trackies, listened to rap and that MC stuff, got drunk a lot and did drugs.

I took issue with her, gently, on the council-house bit and told her that people who live in council houses are not necessarily chavs and I added . . . whatever that is . . . in an effort to demonstrate my non-stereotypism which is probably a bit dishonest of me.  And I reminded her that her friend lives in a council house and that I hope she never says such things in front of her. 

She took issue back with me, telling me that she knows not all people who live in council-houses are chavs, but that all chavs live in council houses – that it’s part of the chav criteria (she didn’t actually say criteria, she’s a clever girl but her vocabulary range is still within the limits of an eleven-year-old).

Then I said that many people do drugs, get drunk, wear trackies and listen to MC and rap but don’t live in council houses.  What are they called? 

She picked up on the subtle sarcasm that I tried to hide and she tutted and sighed.

I told her . . . I just wouldn’t like to see you looking down on people.

She slammed out of the car saying that she wasn’t going to tell me anything again because I-always-take-things-too-importantly

I am just not cool. 

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