Not stepchild, really. Fake child. He’s not my child at all. Apart from in this 30-second commercial:
I filmed it a few weeks ago. It took two days to shoot. That’s me, out-of-focus and in the background, folding clothes. So like me. The kid, my kid, is this little flame-haired tearaway called Zach. He is five years old and hilarious. We had a ball. He also is the possessor of one extremely lovely and generous real mother who drove me home after we wrapped.
*Interesting footnote: I’m wearing a Ben Sherman blouse, Saba jeans and some very uncomfortable Country Road ballet flats. I’d estimate the whole ensemble would have cost a tidy three hunge at least. What a privileged laundry-lady I am!