Skip to main content

A fine romance

My little angel has a crush! A proper, full blown, gangly, gauche, blush-inducing crush.

The object of Firstborn's affections is a sweet little thing, let's call him Mr T, in the same class at school. Mr T is French (naturally, Les Anglais being an endangered species in Kensington these days), brown of eye and limb, and really quite charmingly shy.

The romance first blossomed in a leafy Kensington square one sunny Sunday afternoon. I knew something was afoot when Firstborn spotted Mr T on the other side of the garden, immediately becoming skittish and exciteable yet throwing a major tantrum when it was suggested she go over to play with him.

Firstborn then applied herself to the pretence that Mr T didn't exist, contriving to rush past him as often as possible with a tribe of other kids in her wake, laughing merrily and looking as if she didn't have a care in the world. Poor Mr T didn't stand a chance - not being an Experienced Man Of The World with the knowledge that this is the sort of behaviour displayed by wily females in love since the start of time, the little chap merely stood in the middle of the lawn staring at Firstborn's wild capering with a mournful look on his face.

Clever Firstborn.

The very next day I was approached by Mr T at the school gates with the polite request that I deliver a beautifully wrapped gift to my naughty daughter. Firstborn kept up the aloof act upon presentation of the gift, airily announcing that I could open it if I wished. As I unwrapped the carefully folded layers of tissue paper I could see Mr T futively peering in our direction, eyes wide and anxious, head bobbing as he strained to see us across the human tide of bodies surging across the playground. As I held up a plastic purse containing a shell and two sparkly hairclips, Firstborn's friends jostled to get prime viewing position, giggling and whispering. Firstborn quickly supressed her delight but I knew she was thrilled - "You can go over to say thank you, Mummy," she announced, cool as a cucumber. Mr T was, by this point, practically puce of cheek and trying to dig up the playground with the toe of his hand-stitched shoe.

Cool as Firstborn may be, that little plastic purse has been carefully put in the pocket of her school blazer every morning and placed under her pillow every night. It can only be a serious case of First Love.

The scary thing is that she is better this sort of thing at five years old than I've ever been. She's going to be trouble, that one. Big heaps of trouble. I had better start looking into high-security convents right now...


Yvie said…
This is a cute story! :) It's so good you have written about this, something that you'd tease your daughter about when she grows up lol!

I remember having a huge crush to a boy when I was in Prep class. It was so funny, I even brag it to my Mom. Thus her object of constant teasing. :D
Shelly said…
Hysterical post - thanks for sharing! My daughter's not old enough for this behavior - yet - but thanks for the insight! lol
YLM said…
Hello Yvie - I am already teasing her and she is already rolling her eyes at me... we are doomed, I tell you, doomed.

Hi Shelly, thanks! Start preparing now, it'll hit you like a bolt out of the blue. The shock is stupendous...

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…


Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …