Mums in General and Mine in Particular.

I no longer have a Mum so my little verse below wasn't written especially for her but I know the Mum it was intended for loved it!

My Mum died in 1997 and we still miss her.

It wasn't her cooking - that was always a disaster - and it certainly wasn't her driving either!

It was her Malapropisms mainly! She was hilarious and the tales I recounted to friends of her joyfully inappropriate expressions are legendary in our circle, so I'm going to share a little of her lunacy with my blog-buddies!

The anecdote my very good friend Arleen remembers most fondly was this one.

It was Boxing Day and when my children were small, Boxing Day was the day over Christmas my child-free single career-girl friend Arleen used to come over for the day, full of tales of her single life, going out, buying those Dior shoes she'd had her eye on (which usually meant I'd feed her for that month!) and her escapades with her crazy friends. I was never envious. I'd been there, done that and the t-shirt was now too small.....

My Mum & Dad used to come too. My best friend since we were about eleven years old, Arleen was their adopted and, I believed, preferred daughter! So they looked forward to her madcap stories.

"Well Mum, " says Arl to my Mum, " what nice prezzies did Dad buy you this year?"

At this point, I'll turn myself into Arleen to recount her version of events.

"Your Mum looked at me and said 'Oh he bought me some lovely things, as always,' and when I glanced at you, you were hiding behind the newspaper and I could see you were chuckling 'cos the paper was shaking! I knew I'd get no help from you!"

"Then your Mum says 'well, let me see....Oh yes,' and she fingered the fur coat she was wearing '..he bought me this - it's real you know, none of that stimulated muck you know...it's real pony' which I was really puzzled about. It didn't look like horsehair as it was quite long and silky. Then it hit me coney! coney was the word she was missing! Rabbit, the coat was rabbit skin! The 'stimulated' bit I'd got sraight away. And that paper was shaking even more and I promised myself I'd do you harm later on...!"

"Then your Mum continued her tale. 'and I got some potted puree...' and I'm thinking 'he's bought her liver pate for Christmas...?' Puzzled, I'm mentally saying 'potted puree, potted puree....' Then your Mum says 'it smells lovely! I like to keep bowls of it around the house...'! Aaaargh! Not liver pate then....!

"At last it clicks. Pot Pourrri!

By this point, I'm having difficulty keeping a straight face.

"That's lovely Mum! What lovely presents." I say "What did you get for Dad?"

'Oh, you know how he likes his cooking....' says Mum, and I'm thinking 'yeah, self-defence of the belly with your cooking Mum...' and she continues, 'So I've bought him condoms....'

"Your Mum and Dad are a very happily married couple and adore each other but.....hmmmmmmm..."

'..yes, 'she continues, 'he so likes to put posh ones out on the table for dinner parties'

"Now I've been to most of the parties held at your Mum & Dad's and I'm now wondering just what kind of parties they're holding now they're pensioners. A couple of disturbing and unbidden images involving blue rinses and age-spots sear my brain....."

'Condoms Mum...?' I'm hoping I've misheard.

'Yes, You know, salt, pepper, black pepper...Dad likes people to be abole to grind their own...'

Condiments!

'The word 'grind' at this point is a little too much and I rush off to the loo clutching my stomach...!"

I'll finish off the story as myself, as I was there and Arleen, having done the sensible thing, has run away from the insanity.

Mum then turned to me and said 'Oh poor Arleen! It must have been something she ate.'

After a few minutes Mum says 'What are we having for dinner love? I'm getting a bit hungry now.' So I inform her it's the usual Boxing-Day treat - left-over turkey.

I've made a lovely curry for the rest of us because they're always popular and we look forward to them, my Dad in particular as Mum won't have it in the house and he loves it. For Mum, I've kept the best piece of turkey breast and made her own individual roast dinner.

She smiles. 'Oh that'll be nice then.'

Then she turns to me and in all seriousness wags her finger at me and says, 'Make sure you heat it all the way though, though - you get semolina from the orgasms in undercooked poultry you know!'

This to me is so funny on so many levels.....