I have become somewhat of an arsehole – a stage school mom.
I started 2 weeks ago when I joined Summer up to a performing arts school – I couldn’t afford it, but they promised to keep her every Saturday for 2 whole hours of dancing, singing and drama. All I heard was 2 whoooollllllleeee hours to myself, shopping, pampering, sleeping. All without the constant nag of Summer and her insistence on following me everywhere.
For her first session I decided to stay and peak through the window to see if she was enjoying herself, because if she wasn’t she would have just walked out, no negotiation, just off down the A2 heading home. A few other mums were there, turned out immaculately, clasping Chanel bags with pink frosted lips and highlights in their hair. I still had morning honey still stuck to my chin. I noticed how very subtly that they would try and push their way to the front to take a peer through the one small A4 window at their little stars, and then smugly turn back to the other mums and profess how wonderful ‘Shiraz’ is doing. One mother whose daughter was in the 6-8 yr old class was moaning about how her (by all accounts spoilt brat) child should be in the next class up on the account of her extraordinary talents (un noticed by me) and that the class was holding her back. For the next 2 hours I had to listen to the most futile conversation about collagen injections ,Range Rovers, cello lessons and the difficulty in finding cheap eastern European help. I having non of the above tried to stay quiet clutching my bus pass. But they kept trying to draw me in, trying to get information on me as to what Summers talents were, what threat she might be to their own budding myley cyrus’s. I tried, I really tried not to get involved. But half hour before the class ended I cracked.
‘’Summer comes from a theatrical background’’ the room gasps, their botox cracks. ‘’I was in the west end as a child myself – a stint with Vanessa Redgrave as lead’’ This is true. ‘’Her father is musically blessed and was an international dancer’’ this is not true, he cant hold a tune or play a note but danced in a few music videos in his day, MC’d at a few raves.....why is this coming out of my mouth, stop, stop, stop. I can see them all pretend to be pleased and intrigued whilst snarling at me and watching Summer with one eye. ‘’Summer was doing dance earlier in the year but she was quite advanced and wasn’t being challenged’’ they all nod in agreement. Shut up, schhhhttttooooppppp. It got worse – I implied ever so slightly that my new 4x4 was in the garage hence the bus pass. When in fact it’s been a right off sat outside my house with bricks propping it up for 6 months. What have I become, I am thinking about getting a spray tan!! It’s ok – Summer will hate it and we will never have to come back here again – they will just presume she got a scholarship to the Brits.
She loves it – she begs me to take her back, its the best thing ever. I am shitting myself as there is no way I am going to be able to magic up an Audi Q7 by next week – and what about the holiday to the Bahamas I told them I had planned thats only a month away!!!!! Bollocks me.
For the next week I obsess about keeping my own show alive, without making them find me out. Summer keeps irritating by singing this show tune over and over again (badly) ‘’Soft hands, blab la, Gold Curls bla, bla I’m not that girl’.... shhhhhh mum is trying to work out how to get an Audi. But then in dawns on me – if I cant muster these material things I shall make Summer a star, this will in the short term, leave the other mothers envying me, and in the long term score me an Audi (I would naturally take 50% as her manager). What happened next is heinous, its dreadful,....... I type the song words into google, I find the song ‘I’m not that girl’ from Wicked. I play it on repeat to Summer and make her perform it for me, over and over. I stop her midway and push her off the mock stage and show her how she should be doing it, how to punch the air, how to look longingly into the distance, never turn your back to your audience, project Summer Project!!!!! After the 14th attempt she starts to loose interest and the feeling in her legs – no worries lie down and watch mummy do it – see how its meant to be done you fool. I am prancing about the room, singing at the top of my (well ranged) voice, at one point I even let out a tear. (my god I am good) Part time dad comes up to see what the racket is and quickly turns on his heels when he sees me on my hands and knees pleading to the Dress Circle. It gets worse though. While Summer sleeps I set the song on repeat and play it to her all,night,long....I set my alarm early and wake her up for a quick rehearsal before school – and so it goes for 5 days and 5 nights. And £125 spent on theatre tickets......
Come Saturday ladies I will dust off my 10 year old Louis Vinton bag, put my false eyelashes on, drag Summers lifeless body to the class and death stare her through that A4 small window until she performs it just how I like it.
I will then ask the teacher to put her in the class above, leave late so I can catch the bus unnoticed.
She will be a star, my girl, you just wait and see....for the first time ever I am pleased at the ridiculous middle name Part Time dad gave her... Summer Destiny will be a star.
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