Reusable bags? Raincoats? Gawd Ma, how totally uncool of you. . .
IT'S Saturday morning, you've just finished the week's shopping and it's off to the local farmer's market for a few nice bits and a welcome cup of coffee.
You pack the groceries into the car and bring the last empty shopping bag for the fish, the Thai curry paste, the garlic-stuffed olives and the bottle of organic apple juice.
The Wolverine is aghast when you attempt to hand her the eco bag as the two of you walk towards the market stalls.
"Ma, I know people here! Gawd," she hisses, eyes darting left and right.
You look at her in bewilderment.
"Can't you put it in your shoulder bag? Jeez, how embarrassing can you get!"
It is clear that the mere thought of not only being seen with her mother on a Saturday morning but also being spotted actually carrying an empty eco-friendly shopping bag, is enough to make your daughter feel ill.
"Chill," you tell her, squashing the offending item into your own bag.
"Don't sweat the small stuff," and, feeling enormously trendy, you hurry into the queue at the fish stall -- she elects to stay well away from you here -- to buy the week's mackerel.
Later, as the two of you sit contentedly at one of the outside tables, you sipping a latte, the Wolverine snarfing a Nutella crepe, it starts to drizzle.
You shrug on your rain-proof jacket and tell the Wolverine to put on hers. She looks at you in utter disbelief.
Are you kidding her?
You can't seriously expect her to sit in the middle of all of these people wearing a plastic mac? You must be joking.
No, you insist, you're not.
She's so distressed at the mere thought of bringing attention to herself by donning such a pathetic garment that she almost throws a tantrum right there in the middle of the interested Saturday morning crowd.
Oh all right, you say, with a sigh. So she sits there, coatless, in the rain, finishing her crepe and catching pneumonia.
Don't sweat the small stuff, you tell yourself.
Later, as she curtly refuses your offer to take a handle of the by now very heavy shopping bag, in case people thought she was a total weirdo, you decide not to mention the long smear of Nutella down the front of her nose.
Revenge, you tell yourself, really is best eaten cold.