Dear children of mine, on the occasion of Mother’s Day, I’m pleased to inform you that you have the world’s absolute best mother.
How do I know?
Well, let’s focus on outcomes.
For instance, you, Mr F. You have grown (and how) from a minute but dearly loved pain in the arse to a magnificent towering warrior of a young man. Unlike me, you are generous to a fault (I once haggled over five cents on a coffee date).
Me: The solar’s crashed again, we’re going to have to shell out for new batteries. (Groans)
Him: I’ll help pay for them, Mum. Like, if I don’t give my money to you, I’ll probably just spend it on useless shit.
Mr F, as a student, has very little money. But he is always offering it to me. Not only that, but – unusual in a man of any age, let alone one under twenty three – he is a great listener. I can go on about my books for hours and he will sit there going ‘That sounds interesting,’ and ‘That’s great!’. He once sat on a bus next to a talkative old lady (not me) for four hours and never once pretended he was asleep. Finally (there’s a long list of Things To Admire, but I thought I’d stick at three) he’s a feminist. It takes a strong man to support a strong woman. Go Mr F!
And Ms M. She’s also a feminist, despite the hordes of young women eagerly protesting their freedom from that demeaning tag. Girls who, but for feminism, would be on their fifth baby, unable to vote and ‘owning’ nothing but their whalebone corsets. She’s a staunch believer in the right of any woman to have as much damn sex as she pleases, without being labelled ‘promiscuous’ and ‘slut’. Despite being, herself, more than a bit picky.
Me: So when are you going to get out there and start putting it about?
Her: I don’t know…I’d like to get to know the girl properly first.
Me: Have I not taught you anything? FIRST, sleep with him (in her case, her), THEN you can get to know each other. What else is pillow talk for?
And Ms M is tolerant. She will be nice to anyone – old people, young people, people who changed from shes to hes and hes to shes – with Ms M, it’s what’s inside that counts. That said, if what’s inside stinks, she will rip into you big time. Well done, M.
So obviously, having produced such priceless jewels of offspring – I must be the world’s best mother, right?
Alternatively, they were just born that way.
Although these paragons do have one fatal flaw. They never buy me anything on Mother’s Day. Do yours?