I've decided the best way to HAVE MY REVENGE on the Cashed-Up-Bogan mum at school is to

a.) be taller . This has already been accomplished.

b.) look better in jeans than her.

Now, this is not the same C.U.B. mum who I have mentioned before with the black and magenta hair and rather ample bosom. No! This woman is small, weedy, has mousey brown hair and laughable ambitions to be an air hostess. (I hear they're strict about being higher than the drinks trolley these days.)

Yes, you do detect an air of hostility there, dear readers. Oh yes.

But shall I lower myself to her bogan levels? (These are pretty darn low). No! I will just have a more shapely bum which, as anyone in the female sphere knows, is the best form of pay- back since having a full set of teeth.

You are probably wondering what Low-Low-Horribly-Low Afore-mentioned Woman has done to deserve my ire? Here is a re-created snippet of conversation between Little Pig Number Three (who is in grade 3 and is 8 years old) and moi-self.

"Mum, today Chaise (his friend's name, girly-sounding though it be for a boy) said our family are hippies and he doesn't talk to poor people. "

"And why does Chaise think we are hippies, Sweetums?"

"Because his mum said so. I'm going to pound him and smash him up! There's gonna be blood and gore and brains on the pavement!"

"No, don't do that poppet. Just don't invite him to your birthday party."

(Little Pig Number Two )" And snigger at him whenever he gets in trouble in class and spread rumours about him."

After this I plummeted into a pit of self despair over the unkindness of people and went on a binge of green-tea drinking. Now, I don't really care (overly) being labelled a hippy (though in my opinion the only real hippies are those who were doing all the flower power stuff in the 60s and 70s, so I am historically too young to be a hippy). Anyway, look how nicely they all grew up on Family Ties! And consider how shiny hippies' teeth are! Sir Richard Branson is one happy hippy.

The thing that upsets me the most is the "I don't talk to poor people" bit. This is rich coming from outer suburb wannabes who ( I have found since moving here from the leafy, green, affluent suburbs of my private and exclusive girls only high school days) are chockers full of the most invertly snobbish people you could ever come across .. not counting certain Asian places that will remain unnamed. And apart from the abject irony of this, IT'S JUST NOT NICE.

OK, so my car is 19 years old: it still gets me from A to B - and because it is second hand I have left a smaller carbon footprint behind.

And yes: my clothes are somewhat casual and may be interpreted as 'GROOVY', but at least I'm comfortable and not a slave to what is being sold this season in Target, Kmart or Supre (oooh classy).

And lastly, I know my giant handmade straw hat that eclipses the sun is subject to many smirks and comments; but I have the last laugh with the preservation of my youthful good looks as opposed to resembling Jerky Girl.

So, I'm on high Atkins at the moment to strip away any excess flesh there may be from my gorgeous buttocks and then, next time Little Pig Number Three's class has an assembly item to which C.U.B. mum bothers to turn up, I will don my Levi flairs and sashay past her oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah with a super model pout on my face and wiggle in my pony walk.

.

ANd then, from the oval to the car park, I'll pelt her with Tibetan goji berries.