The annual day looms large...

Battling runny nose and sneezing violently, mamma made her way to the classroom packed with the strange sight of mammas in different shapes and sizes perched delicately on the small chairs meant for the exclusive use of brattie and classmates. In the weight range of 20 odd kilos. Mamma had probably cubed that weight range by now. Therefore mamma sank slowly, reminescent of the riverhorse slowly lowering hippo weight into river bed, hoping that the mud wont give way and swallow him whole. Mamma was late, the brat, seated up front with his cronies, gave her an accusatory look. And piped up loud enough for mamma to turn a mottled shade of purple with embarassment at being pulled up so in public situation. "Mamma, whyucumlate? Is bad manners!"
Mamma sank into said tiny chair meant for brat or Lilliputians, and shrank further into self hoping she had disappeared enough. But she had not reckoned with a virulent brat who lifted himself from his spot up front and come forward to hand hold mamma through the difficult process of figuring out costumes, something kind fellow mamma and india helps team member Priyanka had already done for her. "Mamma, you write everything poperly?" Mamma sent him packing back to join his classmates up front. He looked back again, and hissed, "I see you aferwords." Mamma shivered in fear. The brat resumed his bashing of fellow classmate hand exercise he had been engrossed in until she entered.
Turns out the brat is in a welcome dance, in which he has to wear a black jacket, a shiny shirt and black trousers and a top hat. And a Goan dance in which he needs a floral hawaiian shirt, a pair of bermudas and floaters, topped with a straw hat. Mamma's heart sank at the thought of the infinite straw hats left behind in hotel rooms on every Goa trip, them being thought of as cumbersome to transport back to Mumbai, given that luggage was already overflowing with cashews and feni and bebinca and such contraband.
This morning, the brat wakes up and rubs his eyes. "Mamma, you made my costume." Mamma demurred, she still has to hunt down bits and pieces of shirt and floaters and hat. Brat frowns. "Mamma, if I donhave costume how will I dance on dstage? You are a very badly behaved child. Gerrit fast. Or I will put you in the naughty corner."
Suitably chastised, Mamma spent the better part of the morning hunting for hideous hit the eye with a hammer floral shirt. And found one in bright red too. The brat took one look at it and sneered derisively. "I not wearing dat. I wanna gold shirt and gold pant and gold shoes. And gold hairband."