teen mom

Last night I went to an industry party, which means I spent the entire evening dodging strangers.

Why? Because I can predict exactly when it will happen, and what will solicit the remark. I make great efforts to steer the conversation elsewhere, but tedious verbal gymnastics only delay the inevitable:

"You look too young to be a mother."

Sometimes this is a compliment, or a pickup line. But more commonly the sentiment is accompanied by crossed arms, puzzlement, dismay, and often, extremely rude questions.

Last week I read an article detailing the fact that an African-American teenage mother, Kymberly Wimberley, earned the highest GPA in her class at Arkansas' McGehee School District.

But this young woman was forced by the school district to share the honor with a white student. She responded by filing a lawsuit alleging that this was unlawful discrimination, based on the fact that she was a black teenage mother.

The other day I was wandering around Paris with my daughter in search of the perfect patisserie.

We were talking about completely random topics when she suddenly erupted in rage over a passing implication that she might one day have a baby of her own.

"I will never have children! I don't know why everyone keeps telling me I will!"

The UK Government has announced a new social mobility strategy.

Nick Clegg, David Cameron and pals have made public statements condemning the "who you know" culture that gives preferential access to educational opportunities and jobs based on social connections. They say that under this government everyone should get a "fair chance."

The initiative is fascinating, not least because Clegg, Cameron, Osborne and associates were all privately and expensively educated. They are, one and all, people who obtained internships and career placements through family connections.

It is so nice my daughter is an adult: the risk of kidnapping has vanished!

I can disclose my location, discuss and describe my immediate vicinity, share contact information! On my daily perambulations I can look at flowers instead of scanning for bad guys!

I no longer need to sit with my back against the wall.

Miles and years have converted the threat to piquant dinner table anecdote, but it was legitimate. Real. True. Not just a shouted refrain in a custody dispute: oh no. Someone factually held a loaded handgun to my head and made very sure I understood.