Yesterday I did my community spirited duty and volunteered to man the Mother's Day Stall. In my head, this meant that I donned a quaint checked pinafore and sold donated crap that the Mum's had recycled from last years Mother's Day Stall.
Either I am deluded or the world has changed.
I turned up to find about 20 Mums on different stations. There were two large tables piled high with a selection of gifts that had been outsourced by a company that, get this, specialise in providing cheap pink gifts to schools to sell at Mother's Day Stalls!
It was a very sanitised affair.
There was also about a dozen Mum's on the gift wrapping table station and 3 on the money transaction table.
And because I was a tiny bit late, and obviously very threatening, I sat alone.
On the IOU table.
The IOU table is provided for those kids whose parents had not read the newsletter and had forgotten to give them some moolah.
I know these kids. Because usually, they are MY kids.
The whole thing ended up costing me about $70. Because of the kindy kids. Kids so cute and adorable and partially clueless. They would come up to me with their chosen gift, being escorted by one of the volunteers on crowd control.
I would ask them their first name, which they would tell me. Then I would ask them their class, and receive a blank look. Then I would ask them what their last name was, thinking that I could look up their class later, but most of them replied with....
"I don't know...."
So then it would all become too hard and I would chuck some money into the till and tell them to go and get the little jar of glitter wrapped and we will leave it at that.
Then they would walk away in the opposite direction of the wrapping table, only to be corralled again and sent off in the correct direction.
Seriously, so divine.
Then the big kids arrived and again, those without dough were sent to see me.
"Do you understand the terms and condition of this loan?" I would start my spiel. "There is 0% interest and a 99% chance that if you do not pay, no one is going to chase you up for it...."
The big kids just shook their shoulders and so did I.
It had been a few hours and I was a little bit over it.
Then I saw Jack, who was commando rolling over to the payment table with his pocket money in one hand and a gift in the other. It must have been a small gift, which led me to believe that he too, had fallen for the little jar of glitter.
So that is what I can expect on Sunday. Glitter. And a Rugby Match.
Because those things go so well together, don't you think?
