Mother. (Episode 26).

31 08 2016

Mother belongs to a generation where she only had one partner- my dad – and even though he passed away nearly fourteen years ago now I’m still convinced she would feel disloyal or unfaithful in some way if she even entertained the thought of another partner. Not that she has lacked admirers. There was Harry, Dax Wax hair, a paunch framed by a waistcoat, who took a shine to her – and even though mother was flattered by the attention she received initially, quickly began hiding when she sensed that he was becoming a bit too amorous. Door bells unanswered, letters not replied to. But persistent he was, even going as far as to empty a box of chocolates through the letter box one by one when he discovered that the box itself wouldn’t go through it. Unaware of this new postal service mother opened the front door and trampled coffee creams all the way back into the living room. Even after mother had read the little gift card that came with them, smudged with strawberry cream fondant, she remained unmoved, declaring that she was quite happy on her own thank you very much and was quite able to buy her own confectionery. ‘He’s  always chasing woman but never knowing what to do with them when he finally catches them’. (Pause). ‘Or so they say’.

Needless to say that a lack of attention from mothers side meant that he did eventually disappear from the scene, leaving mother I suspect, a little sadder for the lack of admiration. Complicated? Who am I to say, but loyal to my father mother most certainly was and is to this very day.

Which reminds me. A trailer park owner once took a shine to her as well, repeatedly saying ‘Wow’ when she wound down the car window to ask him for directions. I do believe she blushed slightly before re-establishing her composure, but the sparkle in her eyes remained for the rest of the day and indeed for the rest of our Florida holiday.

Sadly there seem to be a lack of admirers on the scene at the moment, and mother has taken to telling me about how many people compliment her on her young looks for her age. This I know is my cue to reaffirm the truth with a nod and a couple more compliments. ‘Your hair looks lovely. Nice coat,’ which nearly always acts as a prompt for mother to smile, do a double take in the mirror, and add an extra dab of powder to an already over powdered nose. (Cough)

With an audible sigh of relief, from me that is not mother, we then head out of the door.

Once on the bus mother whispers about girls displaying tomorrows washing today and how they fail to leave anything to the imagination, and I try really hard not to stare for too long at a tall girl in leggings that look very similar to an extra layer of skin.

‘What a lovely day…. Ooooh look a squirrel’, I say as I turn my head away and point a little bit too vigorously out of the bus window.

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