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Fat, Thin, Black, White

There comes a time in every mother’s life when her children notice that not everyone looks the same and they say the immortal words:

“Mummy why has that man/lady/baby got brown skin?”

And you answer without a moment’s hesitation with a brief explanation about the world and all the wonderful people in it and you smile graciously at the man/lady/baby and they smile back with a look that suggests they’ve heard this question many times before (possibly not the baby).

It happened with Eliza in Sainsbury’s a couple of years ago and with Tilly today in the carpark at Sainsbury’s (clearly it’s a favourite destination of ours).  On answering her question with the usual answer she declared:

“I’m from Wales actually Mummy.”  (really? first I’ve heard).

“No you’re not.” quick as a shot comes Eliza’s put down.

“Yes I am, Daddy said.” Yet more news to me.

“Did he? Well I think you’re more of a Midlands/Kent mix actually Tilly.” (not that I have anything against Wales you understand.)

“No Mummy I’m from Wales. Daddy said.”

“Right, ok.”

Sometimes it’s best to leave it. 

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