Quaint, all rose-covered-tablecloths-and-bone-china-cups-and-saucers cafe in the village square. Full of mono-bosomed ladies with hats and one suspiciously real looking mink stole (never thought I'd ever write the word stole). Sipping a rather pleasant assam with a friend. The Stropper entertaining herself drawing and colouring in.
"Look mummy, do you like my drawing?" To be fair the masterpiece didn't initially get my full attention. I gave the bulk standard response, "Oh it's lovely, Darling", and returned to my cuppa. Unsatisfactory. I was requested to look again. "Mmm that's a fantastic cat". Stropper's face suggested I'd failed again. Another attempt, "A dog?" no. "A dinosaur?" no. "A giraffe?" no. "A monster?" no.
It was all going wrong.
It was getting a bit much for The Stropper. My pathetic inability to positively identify her drawing, which, to be fair, did look a bit like a dog/dinosaur/giraffe/monster combo, was obviously distressing and frustrating.
Stropper was starting to get loud. Feathered hats were beginning to turn. My friend was no help. She'd made a calculated and well-timed retreat to the loo.
"No, no, no, no, look again mummy. It's a very special picture!"
I stared at the picture and willed recognition.
"Erm, a boat? With eyes?"
"Noooooo mummy, it's YOU!"
Dismay Factor Percentage:
A good 68%. Elderly women with matching shoes and handbags can be very intimidating.