Me: I’m here to sign my son up for swimming classes.
Receptionist: What’s his name?
Me: Finn Tomes.
Receptionist: And . . . which classes has he completed?
Me: Jellyfish and Frogs.
Receptionist: Right. Let me just check whether he’s due to graduate to Penguins.
(She goes off to mutter at someone and returns.)
Receptionist: We’ll put him back in Frogs this term-
Me: EXCUSE ME?
Receptionist: We’ll put him back-
Me: Oh, I HEARD YOU. Look. I don’t mean to be some pushy parent; but my son is QUITE CLEARLY a PENGUIN.
Me: He’s been swimming all summer*- he’s half-baby half-fish. Like some sort of baby-fish mutant hybrid. With extra webbing.
Receptionist: Um. We can only go on what the instructor says-
Me: Well, on the assessment form from his last class, he scored top marks on everything except monkey-monkey supported and kicking in a supine position – so I don’t know what HER problem is.
Me: I feel you’re holding him back.
Receptionist: I’ll just- maybe- would you like to speak to the manager?
Me: I should think so. *SNIFF!*
(After 15 minutes arguing compellingly and evidently persuasively about Finn’s potential for long-distance swimming or at least flotation):
Manager: We have a free slot in the Tuesday Penguin class-
Me: That’ll do.
Manager: How do you spell Finn? F- I- N- N-
Me: Wait- wait- sorry. Do you- do you really think Finn should re-swim the Frog class?
Manager: Well, he’s still very young-
Me: I’m worried maybe I’m pushing him too far too fast.
Me: I’m conflicted about the type of parenting methodology I should adopt.
Me: Perhaps he’d better go back in the Frogs.
* I threw him into a wave once or twice