The Smell Of A Good Nugget

Reservoir Mum really does seem to cop the full blast of Lewis’s toddler-inspired lack of etiquette. Fresh on the heals of being mortified by his Muslim counting episode she found herself in the overcrowded interior of a Macdonald’s restaurant with Lewis by her side eating a hearty meal of 17%-real-imitation-chicken-flavour Chicken McNuggets.

Reservoir Mum isn’t a big fan of MacDonald’s – the rainforest clearing, animal soul devaluing, corporate greed beserking, child brainwashing, smarmy bastards! – and was there only to meet a work colleague. (I feel the same way about Maccas a lot of the time but, occasionally, when I feel very hungry and need a bite real quick I think Macdonald’s is a very yummy restaurant with a nice interior and a great record for socialising fat, slothful teens who are trying to avoid low to moderate to high intensity activity.)

Anyway, she was feeling a bit out of place, a bit self-conscious and a bit observed even before Lewis, yelling to be heard over the Macdonald’s chatter and clatter, said,

“Mummy, can you smell my pop-off?”

Reservoir Mum’s extremities tingled and her face flushed with embarrassment as she whispered forcefully, ‘Lewis! That’s just the way the nuggets smell here.’

Poor Reservoir mum.

She was convinced that everyone was looking at her with a pierced glare, thinking what a terrible mother she was. What else would all the upper class, high-flying Macdonald’s restaurateurs be thinking? I mean, she was eating food in Macdonald’s for Christ sake and not only that she was forcing her children to eat their terrible semi-food products as well. And to top it off her three-year-old was a little filth muppet who made her smell his bodily emissions.

Trying to avoid any further mortification, Reservoir Mum tipped some water into the small amount of Coke Zero left in the Macdonald’s cup and gave it to Lewis to keep him quiet, hoping to fade into the chatter and clamour around them.

“Thank you Mummy bum-bum!” Lewis said, loudly, as he took a little sip. “MMMMM. Yum! This tastes like beer. I love beer!”

I told her that at this stage I would have stood up, kicked over a chair and yelled, “I am a good parent you fuckheads!” spraying Quarter Pounder and spit at them for good measure but she didn’t really think that would change their opinions on her ability to Mother effectively.

My opinion is still the same though – you have to give the fans what they really want…

And so, here is the next installment of My Backyard - The Series.

My Backyard 6 – Perspective

Outside, the ducks still run away from me,

fighting for the tightest position on the fence.

They’re quacking quickly and sound like a boiling kettle.

When I take a step forward, their quacking grows louder.

As if it helps, they bend then stretch their necks.

The rain that first made me wet has now made me wetter.

It’s okay, I’m used to it. And I’ll stay here

until the ducks quack less. Until they peck at things

and shake their tails. Until they move from the fence

and jump in the water.

Inside, the house smells damp

suddenly. And I’m thinking about the ducks –

their fear, their love of water,

their thoughtless, pure actions.

The channel is turned to Jerry Springer,

the sound is down

the guests are running madly back and forth,

towards and away from each other.

In my ears are the ducks – their sounds coming back

and Jerry makes sense to me

suddenly. The way he ridicules us all,

the way he ridicules it all

to us.

I hope we haven’t sprung a leak

but my nose will ignore the damp smell

eventually. I’ll grow used to it.

In a sense, it will go away –

the world is dull outside my window,

inside, the world is wonderfully grey.