High price for spending a penny

Monday, June 8 ‘09

Trying to spend a penny with two little people, or even five as was often the case, was no easy task. When nature called, it was a costly trip for Mrs Bennet. Negotiating a double buggy through the toilet door was one thing, trying to entertain two impatient children while she did her business, was another. And when all five little Miss Bennets were with her, it was almost impossible, especially when they decided they needed to go at different intervals and at the most inconvenient moment. A double dose of potty training was looming on the horizon and Mrs Bennet was approaching the prospect with fear and trepidation.
Toilet trips were therefore not expeditions to take lightly. And this one had a heavy price. Mrs Bennet was in her favourite supermarket, precariously balancing Spag and Bol on a grown-up café seat because they refused to swing their legs into a high chair. As the call of nature was pressing, and Jannie, having recently undergone surgery for breast cancer, couldn’t lift a toddler if required, Mrs Bennet opted for the best solution – hopping into the disabled toilet immediately next to her mother, so she could get back within minutes to resolve any lifting crisis.
“I’ll be quick, I promise,” she yelled. And quick she was. But the getting out process was by no means swift. Somehow in between locking herself in, and turning the lock to get out, the mechanism went limp and got stuck. Mrs Bennet couldn’t get out, and anyone outside, couldn’t get in. She was trapped.
“I suppose this is one way to get away from children,” she thought grimly. Confined in what must be a 200m square box, with a pungent nappy bin for company and not a window in sight, Mrs Bennet was steadily getting hotter as time elapsed. She knew there was no point in shouting, “Help!” as no one would hear her. Besides the door holding her captive, a heavy double door separated the toilet from the café.
She just hoped Spag and Bol were behaving themselves. They were at an age where sitting still was a foreign concept unless an apple or an orange – something which required effort and a long period of time to eat – was in their sticky paws. And Mrs Bennet knew they weren’t armed.
She noticed an emergency cord in the corner of her prison. It was the sort of thing Mr Bean would have pulled, simply because he wanted to know what happened if he did. It wasn’t the sort of thing a grown woman did just to see “what if?” But now she had an excuse. She really did need help.
She felt embarrassed she wasn’t a disabled person. But in a sense she was really glad it was herself and not an old lady trapped inside. She was feeling claustrophobic, although she knew from the sound of activity outside that someone had come to her rescue.
“We’re just getting the manager. Are you alright in there?” asked a familiar voice. Mrs Bennet used the café so much as a refuge and writing place with her trusted friend Mr Latte, that she was known by all staff. There was a struggle with the lock, but nothing was happening.
“I ran in here so I didn’t leave my mum with the twins too long. She can’t lift them. Please tell her I’m stuck in here,” Mrs Bennet shouted.
“It’s OK, she says you can stay in there as long as you like! She knows you need a break!”
Jannie had a point. It was a break of sorts. It just wasn't a venue she would have chosen. “Please don’t let the fire brigade get involved. I really don’t want my five minutes of fame in this scenario!” she silently prayed. Although who could complain having a Darcy in uniform running to their aid?
What seemed like hours later, the manager finally unscrewed the lock and let her out. Embarrassed, Mrs Bennet walked free. So many times she had used this tiny cubicle to change a nappy. Today she had only used it to avoid being longer than necessary for her mum’s sake. Spending a penny had proved a lot dearer than she anticipated.

Little Darcy comes for tea

Friday, January 9 09

It was clear how male-deprived the little Bennet girls were when a member of the opposite species came for tea. They almost couldn’t handle it. The excited high-pitched squeals reached decibels Mrs Bennet didn’t think possible of her five daughters.
This small Darcy however was oblivious to the impact he had on his young females and happily engaged with each, enjoying their company. He had secretly been Miss Bennet Number One’s Darcy since the first day at school, but now the relationship had changed to a more comfortable and level-headed one. Miss Bennet decided she wouldn’t be getting married for a while so potential fiancés were not to be considered just yet. Although it was strange that a year ago or so when this young Darcy had sat at their table, she had suddenly acquired a taste for broccoli and gravy, because a certain gentleman did.
As there was currently not much room in the living quarters, it was therefore rather brave of young Darcy to walk into a room of giggly girls. But he was here to do business. As school council representatives, he and Miss Bennet had set themselves a challenge to write a blog on council meetings, decisions and what they’d like to see happen at school. So Mrs Bennet sent them upstairs to work – away from the younger Bennets who clearly wanted young Darcy to play with them.
“If this happens in 10 years time, I’d quite happily have them working at the dining table where I can see them. Sending a young man into my daughter’s bedroom, would probably not be such a good idea!” she thought.
“Then I’ll be 50, have three teenage daughters and two in the wings of the hormone phase. Think of all the boyfriends? On the other hand don’t!” she told herself.
The upstairs blog writing didn’t last long. One paragraph later, they were ready for tea and downstairs they came, much to the delight of the four younger Bennet sisters, who were thrilled with their guest.
This young Darcy held his own. He left none of them out and had fun with them all. Mrs Bennet only hoped that when the time came for the grown-up Darcys to dine here, they would be as polite as this younger model. Whoever could get her daughters to eat broccoli deserved the Darcy status.

Sinking in the arms of Darcy

Friday, November 28 08

Mr Bennet was sitting on the babies’ table, towel wrapped round his waist, his torso pink from bath heat, attempting to coax the DVD player to hand over a film firmly lodged in its jaw. The words “blocked” flashed up and try as he might, Mr Bennet couldn’t relinquish the DVD or get its mouth to open. Miss Rosie Bennet was like this. If she picked up something – particularly a fistful of Playdoh, Mrs Bennet couldn’t dislodge it. Although she wasn’t clutching on to a bath towel at the time.
The Bennet house was full of furniture badly needing limbs and joints replaced. Chests of drawers littered every room in the current squeeze while the Darcys in the dirt worked on building bite-size Pemberley around them. The lounge chest – dedicated to uniform – was constantly dropping its drawers and causing a scene. As Mrs Bennet pulled out Miss Megan’s drawer, those containing Miss Naomi and Miss Emily Bennets’ clothes, would crash down on top of her fingers. She couldn’t even open her own clothes drawers upstairs.
The fridge had a blocked tear duct and wasn’t draining properly. Instead a puddle of icy water gathered on the bottom shelf, threatening to flood on a daily basis. And the understairs cupboard and kitchen units were so crammed full of “stuff,” Mrs Bennet feared their wrath any time she approached them. She decided to look at something positive. As the seven Bennets had now outgrown Mr Bennet’s bachelor sofa, she was pouring over a certain catalogue to consider corner settee options which would accommodate the Bennet bottoms. She pointed out a suitable design to Mr Bennet, who by now had won his quest over the obstinate DVD player, his towel still in tact.
He nodded in agreement at the child-friendly deep chocolate brown hue, then started to chuckle.
Mrs Bennet did wonder if the bath water had been too hot for him. What was funny about a sofa?
“I don’t believe it," he started."You’ve got a certain gentleman on the brain. This sofa is called Darcy.”
"Let's see!" she cried. Mr Bennet was right. If they did plump for this design, she really could legitimately sink in the arms of Darcy!