There is only one rule in regards to Facebook-guided mothers: there are no rules. After the child is birthed the placenta of entitlement flops onto society’s clean sheets and there isn’t enough Napisan in the world to clean the stain.
When it comes to parenting you don’t know her, but you sure as hell know her story. As everyone from school headmasters to bar staff are treated with her royal decrees as to what her children are permitted to do.
If you don’t like it, then sit on the epidural she endured and spin on it, you childless pile of peasant shit that plagues her royal kingdom.
It’s 11 am on a weekday so watch her whip and watch her chardonay-nay. Queening up her cornflakes has her feeling like Freddy Mercury after he sung “what about me” at a 1980’s suck-a-torium.
She decides to catch up with some other full-time mummies at a bar that appeals so strongly to adults that you’d think it was the prosecutor at the Rolf Harris trial. She updates her FB status with the obligatory queenery, “Yassssss vodka with my queens”.
She cares not for the meaningless policies of the venue and sits where children dare not venture. Suddenly, a staffer launches a coup d’etat on her authority as a queen. “Darling, you will have to move, we do not allow children in the pool area”.
WHAT? A private venue with nearly unfettered discretion to permit patrons on the premises trying to enforce a policy designed for the safety of said patrons? Nup. Not on her watch.
She gives the management a bigger mouthful than Melania Trump around a toupee-flavoured cock. After some bouncers inform her that she will need to leave the premise, she feels as shamed as Queen Cuntsei after the results of a paternity test.
She ponders: to queen or not to queen, that is the question. Whether tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of reasonable policy, or to take arms against a bar by opposing them in a court of equal opportunity?
She chooses the latter and threatens to take the venue to the Equal Opportunity Commission for discrimination. A bold threat but like Aus Post, she probably won’t deliver.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?