Hey Katie! Miss Price! Jordan! Over Here
>Ducks and hides. Waits a few seconds. Gathers courage. Stands up with what I hope is a look of indignation and not constipation<
You see, you’ve really riled me. So much so that I’ve just spent five hours whilst journeying down the M6 with an air of gloom. That didn’t cut through the fug that the rest of the party in my car were emitting, but it was stagnating. It probably caused me to frown, but I’m too lazy to do anything about that. Unlike your fine self, who has dedicated many an hour to readjusting your Botox work just so. It has culminated in a fixed expression. One that has set your eyebrows quizzically so, as if to say “this episode of Jeremy Kyle is very philo? philedelphia? Phil from Eastenders? Ah, philosoffical!” or “this maffs is dead hard Miss”.
My mouth was set hard. Like I was chewing a brick. Again, my laziness hasn’t allowed me to forge hard into the world of fillers, and achieve a pillowy mouth so cleverly designed to whisper ‘blow job’ and ‘K effffff C’. I must try harder.
Sorry Katie, I’m being mean. I’m being judgemental. But you know, tit for tat. And I’m not talking cup size. I’m talking about your words reported here.
We’re probably going to struggle to see eye to eye. In fact I’m scared of speaking out against you. You see, whatever I think about how unnoteworthy your life is, or my disinterest in the size of Pete’s penis, it has a lot of people hooked. I am a small voice, likely to be crushed. I shouldn’t rise to the bait. I should be too lazy to bother. But you are heard, and seen. And here, you are wrong.
I don’t know your life, I mean your real life. Beyond what you share, what is edited and chosen to fit your profile. It would be wrong of me to make assumptions about what your wealth and notoriety can afford you. And yet you assume that any struggles a parent of a disabled child has, they are of their making. You dipped your brush in tar, a smeared it over a community that you could have such a powerful voice for. And then probably stuck some rhinestones on it, so it still looked pretty and glittahry (sic).
But I’m thinking that your Local Authority aren’t keen to be lambasted and shamed when you have such lightening quick ability to speak out and be reported. Let me tell you about me. I have a good job. I work hard. I am well educated. I have a severely disabled son. It took me 13 months to chase through his postural seating system. 13 months of phonecalls, of reaching funding dead ends. Of making friends and then nagging and wearing everyone down. Of becoming threatening. In that time my child learned to sit independently. Lazy sod.
I could give you many examples. I could try and tell you that I, like so many mothers of Special Needs children, am resourceful, articulate, hard working. And you know what we work hardest on? Our attitude. Our unfaltering smiles when we’re deprived of sleep, world weary, and probably trying to mask a faint whiff of our children’s poo or sick. I think you are too. You are one of us. You have cried, grieved, coped and then done your best. Please don’t be ignorant. Hear Us.