When the event ended, I hopped into a cab and headed home to be jeered at and taken advantage of by my children while I cooked yet another meal for them that they might deign to eat. I kept my name tag, printed with the royal seal, pinned to my lapel to impress them, or just as a visual prompt in case they had forgotten my name. When I arrived home, they weren’t impressed at all. And they kept calling me Mummy. Rabble.
