Well, here goes it!
Have been reading through some great material on this critique forum, but don't feel experienced enough at all to comment yet, good feedback too.
I am a newbie and have written down some funny moments from my life and this is one of them, still unsure where to go with it all. It's a resolution of mine to get these things written down at least. Feedback is the next step I guess. Many thanks and happy reading 
Meeting Mummies
The cruel and flavourless task of meeting other parents has induced a rather unfavourable response in the hollow halls of my people skills. General interaction is an easy starter, always talk about the kids, their kids, your kids, her kids etc. Everyone will chuckle together when the squirmy, nappy filling toddler is being 'shy'.
The central factor in successful meeting and greeting is continuing a conversation of interest for both you and the other parent. Parents of similar age will mostly find this easy, unless they don't like the look of the others choice of shoes. Unless, of course, you really don't care what anyone thinks of you or your kids, then you are fine (in yourself anyway...the others tend to think you are a dick and that you have spawned miniature dicks of yourself).
However, as a parent of different age to 99% of the others, this task is gruesome and tiring. A mixture of panic and boldness comes in to play. Inappropriate remarks or doings seem to outline my reaction in these particular encounters, which will discourage another parent from associating with me.
Anyway, this true story intends to encourage your forgiveness of my foolish panic and the feeling of satisfaction that it was not you.
Do feel free to divulge in your own parental nightmare tales as you remark on my fail at successful parental exchange.
It was a lovely afternoon in the summer, the school was very close by and I had made my way there, with buggy and baggage, to collect my second youngest from his half day. There weren't more than 4 or five of us there, a small and comfortable group who had made good interaction over the last few weeks. I was beginning to settle in but had not yet made a mummy chum, but had exchanged polite chit chat and small talk. Mainly I strolled up stood by myself trying to look comfortable and then somehow on occasion managed to get involved in their topic of conversation.
Today, a new parent was there. She was about ten years older than me and looked friendly, carrying her other squirming child who was only slightly older than my youngest. I smiled politely and parked myself and my buggy against the rail.
To my surprise the new parent actually strolled over and started to talk to me, very respectfully too. Like I was a parent and a good one too. It emerged through our conversation that she was new to the village and had two sons (one of which was now standing impatiently beside her as I'm guessing her arms were tired and he was really annoying if you actually wanted to talk to people. At this point I felt human, another parent had spotted that I was actually excellent and intelligent enough for grown up parent talk . Also my youngest son was sitting patiently and comfortably in his pram, so well behaved, unlike her son at that moment.
The conversation had started to dry up, but only just. It was to a point where you need a distraction from the fact you've ran out of words so, you start to gaze at the closest squirmy child (which was hers) as if they merited your response.
I could not allow the conversation to fade, this was my moment to have a mummy friend, make a good impression, have a proper 'kids come over have tea', we talk about or motherly woes and I would be respectable and respected. None of the other older mums had cared to talk to me and I was determined to show off my finery as a human.
At this imperative moment I panicked. We should , out of politeness at least, be asking one another over for our children to play and make friends.
I hurriedly began to ask a leading question - " Do your boys have any friends?"
However, I realised after saying it aloud in my head that it may come across as a bit rude. To infer that her kids might not have any friends would be a terrible insult and a death blow to my suffering social life. It was me who had no friends, not her kids. Don't ask her if her kids have friends. So I had to think up a last second alternative.
" Do your kids haaaave any. . ."
The first replacement that came to mind was cousins. Do your kids have any cousins? It was certainly random but definitely not insulting.
"Do they haaaave any . . . cousins?"
My face even looked slightly confused at my own mouth. Of course they have cousins!
I knew they would have them, almost everyone has cousins. I may as well have asked if her kids ate meals, the poor woman must have thought I was inbred. Yet all I could do to save my dignity was to remain calm and committed to the cause even if I was a simpleton and I sounded slightly unhinged.
As she glanced up she caught the unstable, quivering look in my eye. She scooped her child in her arms, and shielded him away from me.
Her eyes now averting mine and looking quite serious, as if she were trying to avoid the smelly, drunk tramp who had squeezed next to her on the bus.
She replied quite uneasily
" Yes. . . they have cousins."
It would all go away soon enough, time to wrap this up like any other normal grown up conversation. I managed to reply.
" Good. . . so do mine, all girl cousins."
There was a silence . A stifling awkwardness consumed us. The bell rang, the kids flooded out in our arms and buggies. We left back for our homes and comforts.
Cousins? For f**k sake.