Yesterday I decided to stop being so self-involved and go volunteer to paint a nursery for low-income children near Westbourne Grove.
And I thought I was self-involved. Most of the women on the project were the (American) wives of (American) bankers. Their painting outfits consisted of either Seven jeans or sleep suits given out in Virgin Atlantic upper class (“So we got a great deal on our Christmas tickets this year – only $10,000 for the four of us to fly to Montana.”) Their engagement rings contained diamonds as big as the Ritz.
The conversation revolved around whether it was just too indulgent to have household help if one were a stay-at-home mom, the varying levels of ineptness of their husbands when it came to looking after their children alone, and how explicit were the childcare instructions they’d left their husbands.
I think I added five words to the conversation all day.
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But somewhere an angel got its wings. ;) Good for you.
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