An invincible sense of outrage and a pair of scissors

Last weekend, I set off to accomplish a simple task. At least, I thought it was a simple task. And then it all got a bit… eary. No, I haven’t disabled the spelling auto-correct function on my computer (god forbid, my blogs would be unreadable). I don’t mean eerie. I mean eary.

You see, I went to buy a hat for my 18 month old son. In my head, this was not going to be one of the more taxing items on my To Do list. Clean out the fridge: tedious and potentially hazardous to my health. Put kids’ too-small clothes in loft: a potential trip to A&E in waiting as my five year old insists in climbing up the ladder after daddy. Buying a hat: piece of piss. This was the plan: enter shop. Choose hat. Pay for hat. Leave with hat. Put hat on son’s head. Go home.

This next statement may neatly cleave the mothering population in two, and cause half my readership to flounce off in righteous indignation (farewell, my dear three friends, it was nice knowing you). Ready? You may want to sit down.

I bloody hate kids’ hats with ears.

There. I’ve said it. But I fear that is not enough.

I blood hate kids’ hats with ears. Kids who wear hats with ears look utterly ridiculous. And their parents should be reported. To whom, I am not sure, but they definitely should be reported.

Every shop I entered, I had high hopes for my hat purchase. I didn’t think I was being particularly picky. I would have been happy with a beanie, or a bobble, or even a beanie with a bobble. Just not ears. So why the buggering hell did EVERY single hat in his size come with a pair of ears? Brown furry ears. Ahh, look, he looks like a little bear, how cute. Pointy blue ears. Oooh, he looks like a little monster, how funny. Green curved horns. Bless, he looks like a little dinosaur, how lovely. (Okay, horns are not technically ears, but they are still a crime against millinery). All I can say to ears is: NOOOOOOOOOOOO.

I know what those hats are trying to do. They are knitted with the same evil intent as all those bloody baby hats and jackets that have ears on the hood. They are making your child look like a tiny little animal. Like your pet. Let’s face it, the harm is already done within three months of birth: you are encouraged to put your baby to sleep in a wicker basket. The only things missing are a squeaky bone and an excess of moulting hair and there you have it: a dog basket. What is it with making our offspring into pets?

Well, I think I may have the answer. It’s all down to Mummy Goggles. We are all given a pair on the birth of our children, and once on, we can never take them off. They are a bit like rose tinted glasses, but a much, much stronger prescription. They totally distort our view of our offspring, so that every time our gaze falls upon that scrunched up, blotchy, frog-like face of our new-born, we can’t help but see the most beautiful, winsome baby ever to grace humanity with its presence. It is only every other bugger who looks at your baby and can’t help but think of Kermit the Frog. And whilst our mummy brains remain tricked into thinking that our baby is gorgeous, there is a small  voice that whispers in your ear: You can make her cuter, you know. You can make people REALLY believe your baby is cute. All you need is a pair of furry ears and everyone will think it is a fluffy little creature. And who doesn’t love a soppy kitten picture?

I tell you who. Bloody well me. If the hat-ear virus was confined to babies, I could just about cope. Actually, I couldn’t – but you know, I don’t want to appear irrational or anything. It is just the whole cute thing. Even saying the word provokes an immediate gag reflex. Your baby is not cute just becasue you have seen fit to shove a hat on its head that has two balls on top that look like knitted testicle warmers. He just looks like a simpleton with genitals on his head. And it seems there is no age that pretending to be a bloody animal is not appropriate.

I was out for a coffee with a friend and she took her two year old’s coat off. He was wearing a Gruffalo onesie with ears and prickles down his back. That is not day wear. That is sodding fancy dress. I must have missed the sign on Costa’s door that announced it was dress up like a twit day. And don’t get me started on onesies. No, really. I think my head might explode.

I fear my only course of action is to start the Anti-Ear Police. I would act outside of the law, like a ninja vigilante, armed only with an invincible sense of outrage at hats with ears and a pair of scissors. I would tip toe up to prams and toddlers, and whilst the mother’s back was turned, I would carefully and quietly cut the ears off. I would then poke them up the mother’s right nostril and tell them not to be so sodding ridiculous. So watch out, hat ears-lovers, I am coming for them. Snip… snip… snip…

laura slinnWant to poke something funny into someone’s Christmas stocking? Well look no further. Well, look just a bit further. Pop on over to www.jodienewman.co.uk/the-book to buy Womb with a View, my debut book about the joyous wonder of becoming a mother for the first time. Sorry, did I say joyous wonder? I meant bewildering nightmare. You can also buy the Kindle version from http://amzn.to/18YEbGH but that might be a little harder to wrap.


3 responses to “An invincible sense of outrage and a pair of scissors

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