Another set of school holidays have passed and another visit to any given number of fast food outlets was not partaken in.
It wasn’t hard. I just don’t ‘do’ fast food outlets; not a Maccas, not a KFC, Red Rooster or other chicken-based fodder, not a … what else is there? I don’t know.
As a result, I sometimes struggle with normal conversation. Particularly those ones that start with “You know those little toys that come with the Happy Meal?” or when I’m being given directions and someone says “You know the KFC on the corner?” … um, yeah. Vaguely. Not really.
I don’t necessarily like to loudly promote I’m an Avoider of such places. Number one people judge me and think I’m judging them and think I’m some sort of Judgey McJudgey.
Others tend to think I’m more of one of “those” mothers who is anal and overly strict and serve up only organic yak’s milk yogurt on my home made WeetBix of a morning and about to start lecturing from some Moral High Ground about childhood obesity/unruly offspring/the environment/capitalism/something.
The worst, though, is when they say “Oh, you’re such a good mum! I couldn’t not take my kids there!”
Yes, there are also a few who think I indulge in some terribly bad parenting practices and am