I saw an old school Mum-friend recently; she’d been in the USA for three years. I was with my teen in the local park when I bumped into her. Some of the enthusiasm Americans are known for had certainly rubbed off on her; she shrieked like she was at a ball game when she saw us; “Oh my gosh, your son, he’s just gorgeous, those eyes, I can’t believe how much he has grown, he’s so tall, 14 wow amazing” and on and on she went, so much so my teen wandered off looking acutely embarrassed and puzzled.
Of course I think he’s as handsome as they come, I’m his mother it’s a given. But as much as I felt that her words and expression were too over the top and frankly inappropriate, there was a side of me that felt chuffed by what she had said. Something akin to those pedigree dog owners at Crufts, who parade their perfectly preened dogs around the ring in front of the judges. (For the record he’d be a Golden Retriever with a touch Red Setter) Not that I plan on putting him on a lead and trotting him through town! I think yes, I’ve done a good job over the past 14 years or so, high and low points but mostly OK. And why not have a random person shriek like a loon in public about him from time to time.