Being crushingly disappointing to my kids. In a world obsessed with Apple, Nike, Starbucks, with the likes of the Kardashians leading the charge – I’m afraid my kids would hate me.
I only just (three weeks ago) acquired my first iPhone, after being a committed Samsung user for years, and before that Crackberry. And only then because it was the best deal with my particular contract. I’m still waiting for the chorus of angels, and the appearance of a baby unicorn on my balcony… It’s alright like, but it’s not magic, as many would have you believe. But then, as a committed technophobe, I probably haven’t found the ‘fly me to the moon’ and ‘money printing’ apps yet…… I felt a strange and strong sense of disappointment in myself, like I’d let myself down by succumbing to the unbearable pressure of the tiny fruit and it’s gazillion (cult followers) devoted fans. A similar sense of deep shame, as when I ventured tentatively, incognito, into Starbucks to buy a sugar-free blueberry muffin just before Christmas. Because it’s THE ONLY PLACE TO BLOODY FIND A DECENT ONE!!! (and breathe). I felt sullied.
I used to care about names and labels a lot more, when I was much, much younger, in London and in fashion college. I had Cutler & Gross, Gucci, DKNY, LKBennet, yada, yada, yada…… I also left London with a twenty-two thousand pound debt on nine credit cards. Which rose to almost forty thousand, when I bought a house in equally high-maintenance Liverpool.
After I sorted myself out, I vowed never to revisit those dark days of hiding from the men in suits, for the sake of an unnecessary logo that I bought with money that wasn’t mine. Don’t get me wrong. If I won the Euromillions, I’d go bloody bonkers on Paseo de Gracia! But let’s face it, that’s probably never going to happen.
I live well, but within my means (I will never be a millionaire, teaching English), because I prefer not to add unnecessary pressure to my life. So the kids wouldn’t be a whizz on the iPad, because there isn’t one. They wouldn’t have mobiles age nine, because I can just afford my own monthly bills, we’d all be watching the same programme (Masterchef/musketeers – sorry kids), on the same normal sized telly in the same room, because one in each room is unnecessary and excessive. They wouldn’t be wearing labels, because they grow so blewmin’ quickly and they’d have basic trainers, because let’s face it, they’re not finely tuned Olympic athletes.
They would however, be dragged kicking and screaming down to the beach, for a delicious fresh, local produce lunch, on a Saturday (because that’s been budgeted for). Taken to the bookshop, with their pocket money, after school a couple of times a month. Be allowed to have friends round for tea and a myriad board games to play. All the good, old-fashioned fun we enjoyed. It’s very simple kids, Mummy doesn’t have the oodles of money needed for that pop culture, consumer-led way of life…… Why don’t you call up Kim K, and ask her for a handout, to facilitate the dream she’s perpetrating. And despite protestations to the contrary, mummy’s not actually magic.
Can you imagine the embarrassment and horror!? And I do realise how important it is for kids to feel integrated and to fit in with their peers, and how cruel and competitive kids can be if you don’t. They’d hate me for putting them in that position, and I couldn’t deal with their enormous disappointment in my inability to come up with the goods.
And so that is my ‘reasons why I don’t have kids’ #50.