Michael: A woman can’t be a schoolmaster.
Me: But Michael, your own teacher is a woman.
Michael: No, a woman can’t be a schoolmaster.
Me: Of course she can.
Mr. Waffle: Can a woman be a schoolmistress, Michael?
Michael: Yes, of course.
Busy but, yet, Disappointing
Mr. Waffle was out yesterday evening and I decided I would achieve much in his absence and he would be suitably impressed on his return.
I made brioche. It took forever. I was up until all hours. It tasted like bread and looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame (assuming that he was singed on one side). I didn’t spend seven hours proving for this:
The Princess and I bought white t-shirts. And then I spent hours yesterday evening trying to transfer Monster High images on to them using transfer sheets purchased while we still lived in Belgium with the deeply unsatisfying results you see below (do you think transfers go off?):
On the plus side, we did make some progress both in party bag packing (did I mention that the Princess’s ninth birthday party is on Saturday?):
and in roller blading:
Then, as I sat down after a very long evening of domestic duties to print out a document from work, I realised that the printer was out of ink after the strain of printing Monster High transfers. Alas.
Disappointing Spaghetti Jar Purchase
Launched
Look, the launch of the shiny book that’s going to make us all famous by extension:
Updated to add: book is called “The Out of Office Girl” and you can get it here. I hope this link works or I will be fired from my role of publicist.
Further Birthdays
March is full of excitement. Mr. Waffle’s birthday falls on the 19th. On the 16th I was scheduled to pick up the large copy map I had got him from the framers. The night before, I said casually, “I might drive to work tomorrow, the forecast is for rain.” Note my cunning.
When I arose from my slumbers, Mr. Waffle proudly informed me that he had taken the car to the garage to get that wonky light fixed. “You don’t mind cycling, do you?” “Not at all,” I said untruthfully as I contemplated the prospect of walking home from town in the rain with a large picture under my arm.
You’ll be pleased to hear that he really liked the map.
Language Learning in Ireland
Acquaintance: You speak French, don’t you?
Me: Yes.
Her: Would you chat to my daughter before she does her [terminal school and very high stakes] oral examination.
Me: Of course, but I know several native French speakers and that would be much better for her, perhaps I could set that up.
Her: Oh, no, no, that would be no good.
Me: Sorry?
Her: Well, will the person giving her the oral exam be French?
Me: I shouldn’t think so but…
Her: Well then what advantage would it be to her to speak to a French person, it would only put her off. Of course, if you don’t want to do it..
Me: No, I’d be happy to, but you know, if you’re learning a foreign language, it’s best to speak to a native.
Her: That’s not true at all, I really don’t want to do that. It would be no good to her.
And she remained immovable. I despair.
