The dumb foreigner

Yup, that's me - again. I'd been so looking forward to this evening. Hedda's school PTA is not content with just having normal, run-of-the-mill parents' evenings. No, to spice up our dreary parental lives, they also expect you to attend 'fun' and 'loose' (direct translation, so please don't misconstrue) evenings in a bar, where school/class matters can be discussed in a free and - one of my favourite German words - gemuetlich (cosy) way. Hurray!

So I set off at quarter to seven, determined not to be late, not because I want to be punctual and Germanic, but because I hate being the last one to walk in the room. Except there was no room, only a darkened carpark with an ominously flickering streetlight. The place where I thought I had to be was empty. With a growing feeling of panic in my stomach I wandered around for a few minutes. There was someone I could ask but I really didn't want to. However, I pulled myself together and drove to her house.

She screamed with laughter when I explained my predicament. "Well, what were you doing there, you silly thing! We always go to the Jolly Trout (or whatever). And it's at 8, not 7 o'clock!" Silly me indeed. Sigh, sigh, sigh... back I drive to my island of foreign-ness in this village where everyone seems to know what's going on apart from me.

I get home. Hedda rushes down the stairs. "Wow Mummy, you were so quick!" I grunted in reply. "And guess what - Titus is watching Watership Down and isn't even crying yet!" Great. That'll mean nightmares about rabbits of death for the next six months. Am about to confiscate the DVD, close my ears to the howls of protest, apply another layer of lipstick, take a deep breath, get in the car and go to the Jolly Trout for a fun, loose and cosy evening. Think of me.