Team Abulous were late for the school drop off this morning. As much as I can blame the girls’ recalcitrance to eat breakfast, get dressed or follow any instructions, there is no hiding from the fact that it was my fault. I was faffing. Its a wonderful word – faffing. It has the cosy connotations of fluffing but its only a few steps away from the cruder farting and f&^king. The meaning is similar. The Urban Dictionary ( http://www.urbandictionary.com) defines faffing as “to aimlessly waste time doing useless tasks”. Guilty as charged your honour.
This morning’s faffing began with a ridiculously indulgent sleep in until 7.00am. Even the seemingly simple act of laying in bed took a degree of mental energy. It takes will power to avert your gaze from the clock radio, ignore the increasing intensity of the sunlight streaming through your window and convince yourself it is still 6.00am. When I finally did rise and pull a pair of khaki shorts over my sleep wear, it was straight to the computer for some more quality faffing. Both email accounts must be checked in case the people at Vanity Fair have finally gotten in touch with a six figure job offer. My overnight blog stats must be thoroughly analysed as does my Facebook feed. While we’re doing the early morning Facebook scroll, there’s always a handful of “must reads” which absolutely must be read. The annoying thing about social media is the interactive part. If you must read, you must comment in a way that is witty and attention grabbing.
It’s impossible for Mumabulous to function without a cappuccino. Therefore I am compelled to faff some more by trotting down the street to purchase one. This may or may not involve fetching milk and some extra subtle ( read barely perceptible ) flirting with the barista. Then its back home and up the stairs to check my email again because the Vanity Fair people may have made contact during the 10 minutes I’d spent offline. While I’m on the computer I may as well check Facebook again. There’s more essential reading on my feed. Well knock me down with a feather I’ll comment on just one more blog before insisting that P1 put her school uniform on. As that is going to take a few minutes, I’d may as well check out just one more blog.
The next step is usually to get P2 dressed which involves a goodly amount of faffing on her part. I reason that as it will take her a few minutes to choose the perfect outfit I should cram in a little more online time. At this point I might feel that my morale could use a boost. This involves a cheeky peak at one of my favorite crumpets for breakfast. Occasionally I’ll stumble upon something that is just too tasty to keep to myself. This will trigger an internal debate about the pros and cons of posting appealing men on Facebook. On one hand its politically incorrect to objectify the male form. Indeed some wowsers find it offensive. On the other hand, if you find an image of Colin Firth in a bubble bath you are obliged to share it round. It would be a crime against the sisterhood not to.
By now there’s 10 minutes before the bell, lunch isn’t made and I haven’t showered. I use a crow bar to extract myself from the computer and engage the hyperdrive to get to school on time. Still I haven’t accounted for P2’s dawdling in my calculations. As a consequence we are lucky that we are only fifteen minutes late.
It makes me wonder how people managed to waste time before the advent of social media. I recall people being late in my child hood so there must have been opportunities for faffing in days of yore. Perhaps smoking was the faff of choice?
Have you mastered the art of faffing in your household?
Do spill your faffing secrets.
You know what this is don’t you? It’s Fass faffing. Try saying that five times quickly.