My mother is awesome. There are lots of stories I have that show her as a badass or caring mother but there’s one that, well, sometimes it can be one of those ‘you had to be there’ stories, other times it makes me giggle thinking about.
My mother likes a joke. She also likes sarcasm, but that kind of sarcasm where you can’t tell if the person is being serious or not. She can be incredibly cutting with some of her comments but she says them in a way that they come off as compliments even when they’re not. And you can’t have a go at her because she can absolutely defend it as compliant. She had a friend who was a bit… pretentious… and by a bit I mean a lot. Like, A LOT! In later years she turned out to be a complete and utter fucking bitch! I’ve been told I’m not allowed to contact her because everyone knows I’ll tell her exactly what I think of her – and it won’t be pleasant, but she’d absolutely deserve it for being a twisted, evil and nasty old harpy. Sadly her daughter turned out the same way. And her daughters husband is an annoying turd who can’t stand up for himself and does exactly as he’s told. He was really hot when they first met (we’ve known this family a long long time). And I mean proper hot. We’d holiday together – we were close – and all the girls (and me) would stare at him in speedoes. He hasn’t aged well but I think most of it is due to him being a vile person. Like his wife. And mother-in-law. The three of them are also snobs.
I’ve digressed. Let’s call her (the vile harpy mentioned above – the mother, not the daughter) Betty. I’m using that name because if she ever found this site and read this post she’d not only know it’s about her but also be furious at me using that name. Mainly because it’s her actual name and she hates it so uses her middle name. I can’t have a go at her about that as I do exactly the same. Yes, Rob isn’t my first name. I don’t hate my first name, I just prefer my middle name.
I’ve digressed again. So Betty turns up to this party in a dress that had clearly cost a small fortune. Her husband had done well in his business and he was such a cool guy! For my sixteenth birthday he gave me two gifts. One was a pack of playing cards with male strippers all over them. They were very 80’s and very American men – all bronzed and toned and smooth. Boring. The other gift was a framed double sided picture. The one side had a picture of nun, lifting up her habit and fingering herself. And it was very graphic. “For when your dads around!” he said, then he flipped it over and said “and for when you’re alone!” On the other side was a picture of the most handsome man I’d ever seen until I turned 29. He was built, he had chest and stomach hair and a beard. More importantly in his hand he was holding his massive hard cock. My dad was furious, my mother laughed. Betty made out she was ashamed but in reality she wouldn’t know what shame was if Hannah Waddingham was dressed as Shame Nun and smashed her round the mouth with the shame bell while shouting “Shame! Shame!”. I’m picturing this now and it’s glorious.
Again with the digression…. So Betty arrives in this dress. Hideous. Pricey. We’re talking a couple of thousand – yes they were that rich. Mother, very calmly and politely, stroked Betty’s arm and said “that’s a lovely dress.” We all knew she didn’t mean it but Betty smiled and thanked mother, because there was no way she couldn’t and she thought mother was being serious. Then mother added “only you could wear a dress like that.” The burn was harsh. We all loved it.
And just to mention the word digression once more, the above isn’t the story I wanted to tell you about my mother, so here it is and I’ll make it quick.
At primary school I had chicken pox and had to have three weeks off school. Mother, being an accountant and really fucking clever and hoping one day I’d be just as smart as her, didn’t want me missing any school work so she asked the head mistress for some text books. Handing mother a tonne of maths and English books Mrs Fairley said “Just to stop cross infection if you could pop them in the oven on a low light for about ten minutes before bringing them back that should stop any bugs from coming into the school.”
She was deadly serious but mother thought this was stupid. Jump forward three weeks and I’m back in school. Mother escorts me and hands Mrs Fairley a bag of ash and said “I think I had the gas up too high!” turns on her heels and walked out leaving me standing there wondering what the fuck to do.
I did warn you it could be one of this “you had to be there” stories. It still makes me giggle.
My mother. Amazing woman.
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