My unacknowledged relationship with thirty-something Barbie

On reading this article in today's Sunday Times about Alpha parents (stops to pat self on back for first successful link), I was reminded of the mother of a boy in my son's class, whom I have christened thirty-something Barbie, for obvious reasons.

I must say that in France I have not noticed this concept of alpha parents (a kind of graded social hierarchy of parents). It might be because there is precious little social interaction at the classroom door beyond 'bonjour', or it might be because there is no pecking order of schools (no league tables or Ofsted), and therefore less status anxiety. People tend to unthinkingly send their kids to the local school like they did in the UK when I were a lass.

Anyway, my relationship with thirty-something Barbie began last summer when my son sprinkled sand on her son in the park. It was a very minor incident and he was trying to play, so I said nothing. I could tell that thirty-something Barbie (and Ken) expected me to apologise, and in the UK I would have done. But I have learned that in France, he who apologises deserves an extra kick in the pants. I did attempt a 'boys will be boys' smile, but that was met with a stony stare (will I ever learn?). I reflected on the way back that as the boys were about the same age, wouldn't it be sod's law if they ended up in the same class in maternelle.

And what do you know, not only did her son end up in my son's class this year, but they have pegs right next to each other in the corridor. So every morning thirty-something Barbie and I meet at close range, and most mornings I have attempted some kind of eye contact with a view (yes, I admit it) to saying bonjour, but none has been forthcoming.

I have given up now. But she knows I am there and I know she is there. The longer it continues the more ridiculous I find it.

Thank god she has no mates. One alpha maman is easy to handle.