YOU’RE creative, I hear? Think you’ll be delighting teachers and parents with your marvellous crafting skills? Back the f**k off, bitch.
There is only room for one mum as creative superstar for class 5JB, and it’s not you. I rule the crafting roost around here. You’d best accept it.
Ask around. Ask about the handmade cards every teacher gets at the end of the year. Oh, you can sign it – and please note the adhesive label advertising my Etsy shop – but you won’t be f**king making it.
Ask about the craft stall at the summer fayre. Relentlessly dominated by my handiwork for the last four years and, thanks to my weaponising of politeness, solidly profitable.
The other 29 hapless mums don’t have a chance. Sure, Nikki has a successful ceramics business and Martha has a Masters in fine art. But I don’t work.
I’m there every morning and night. I volunteer to come in afternoons. I help Miss Baker put the displays up. She knows full well that any dalliance with your shitty homemade paper flowers is an act of war.
Sure, I’ve used one tiny outlet in my empty life to shape my entire identity. Yes, everything I do is straight off YouTube. And have I alienated my husband by demanding craft supplies from the household budget to the point he sleeps in the spare room? Damn right.
Here. These are detailed instructions for making painted rocks for the class play. Follow them exactly and some of your rocks may be used. Fail to comply? I will kick off like a f**king five year-old.