In which M's mother worries I'm a psycho

So, to recap briefly, Son has fallen in love with the fattest boy in the whole world and I have been forced to approach an unknown person and strike up conversation. Furthermore, I have invited said fattest boy in the whole world for tea.

The initial exchange went well. M, it seems, is an amiable chap who gets along swimmingly with everyone. He would positively love to come to tea. It would be delightful. Again, I am writing metaphorically since such phrases didn't enter the conversation at all, but I'm convinced they might have if only M's mother had stopped smiling and nodding her head in a fashion not unlike the dog in the Churchill advert. We set the date for the following week and that, as they say, was that.

Until the next day, when M's mother asked me if I was a psycho.

You may never have been asked that question. It may, infact, be a question you've given no thought to whatsoever. I have been asked it before, but to be honest, the context then was so far removed from this one that any preparation that went into answering last time around had to be ditched. Instead, I fumbled the very depths of my brain for a clue as to how to respond to such a query.

I opted, in the end (quickly, for I feared any long delay might see suspicion mount), for a short speech on my role as upstanding parent and school helper. I'd like to think there is nothing desperate at all about mentioning that I've had a CRB check. Granted, the benefit of that accolade dimished slightly once I'd disclosed (as any upstanding citizen would) that actually such checks are only valid on the day, hour, minute, second they're issued so actually by now there was every chance that I was indeed a psycho. Anyway, it seemed enough and M's mum left placated.

Until the next day.

Her initial fears had been dispelled. She'd checked me out with the school family worker and luckily I passed with flying colours. (This is mainly because Husband's family is a bit like a good version of the mafia round here and I've been trading off their past exploits ever since Son started school.) Today's concern was the fact that she didn't drive so wouldn't be able to pick M up. No problem, I gushed, I'll bring him home. And all was fine again.

Until the next day.

It would be wrong to say that this day brought a problem to the table. It was more a list of potential problems, all of which could happen while M was at my house, all of which would involve medical intervention and possibly my arrest. M, it turns out, is allergic to nuts, doesn't have asthma exactly but carries an inhaler (for fun??), takes Piriton when he fancies it and just to top it off sometimes enjoys a quick slather of moisturising cream of an afternoon. It would be fair to say that receipt of this knowledge took some of the initial shine off my sense of anticipation, but I put my best foot forward.

Until the next day.

When M's mother demonstrated an attention to detail I'm frankly in awe of. She had, displaying prodigious levels of planning, checked the weather forecast for our allotted play date and discovered - to her abject horror - the possibility of thunder. She didn't know, she said, how my children would be around thunder, would it be OK did I think, should we cancel?

Obviously by now it should have been clear that yes, we should cancel but instead I summoned a smile and breezed, "no, of course not. Everything will be fine...."